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HARRIET  •  T  •  COMSTOCK 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


A  Son  of  the  Hills 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &  COMPANY 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  qf 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


A  Son  of  the  Hills 

TS 


C 


1562984 


CHAPTER  I 

TTOST  HOLLOW  lies  close  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  which  gives  it  its  name.  The 
M  J  height  of  neither  is  great,  geographically 
considered;  the  peak  is  perhaps  eighteen  hundred 
feet  above  sea  level:  The  Hollow,  a  thousand,  and 
from  that  down  to  The  Forge  there  is  a  gradual  de 
scent  by  several  trails  and  one  road,  a  very  deplor 
able  one,  known  as  The  Appointed  Way,  but  abbre 
viated  into  —  The  Way. 

There  are  a  few  wretched  cabins  in  Lost  Hollow, 
detached  and  dreary;  between  The  Hollow  and  The 
Forge  are  some  farms  showing  more  or  less  cultiva 
tion,  and  there  is  the  Walden  Place,  known  before  the 
war  —  they  still  speak  of  that  event  among  the 
southern  hills  as  if  Sheridan  had  ridden  through  in 
the  morning  and  might  be  expected  back  at  night  — 
as  the  Great  House. 

Among  the  crevasses  of  the  mountains  there  are 
Blind  Tigers,  or  Speak  Easies  —  as  the  stills  are 
called  —  and,  although  there  is  little  trading  done 
with  the  whiskey  outside  the  country  side,  there 
is  much  mischief  achieved  among  the  natives  who 
have  no  pleasure  of  relaxation  except  such  as  is 

3 


4  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

evolved  from  the  delirium  brought  about  by  intoxi 
cation. 

The  time  of  this  story  is  not  to-day  nor  is  it  very 
many  yesterdays  ago;  it  was  just  before  young  Sandy 
Morley  had  his  final  "call"  and  obeyed  it;  just  after 
the  Cup-of-Cold-Water  Lady  came  to  Trouble  Neck 
—  three  miles  from  The  Hollow  —  and  while  she 
was  still  distrusted  and  feared. 

Away  back  in  the  days  of  the  Revolution  the 
people  of  the  hills  were  of  the  best.  All  of  them  who 
could  serve  their  country  then,  did  it  nobly  and  well. 
Some  of  them  signed  the  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence  and  then  returned  to  their  homes  with  the 
dignity  and  courage  of  men  in  whose  veins  flowed 
aristocratic  blood  as  well  as  that  of  adventurous 
freemen.  There  they  waited  for  the  recognition 
they  expected  and  deserved.  But  the  new-born 
republic  was  too  busy  and  breathless  to  seek  them 
out  or  pause  to  listen  to  their  voices,  which  were 
softer,  less  insistent  than  others  nearer  by.  In 
those  far  past  times  the  Morleys  and  the  Hertfords 
were  equals  and  the  Walden  Place  deserved  its 
name  of  the  Great  House.  The  Appointed  Way  was 
the  Big  Road,  and  was  kept  in  good  order  by  well-fed 
and  contented  slaves  who  had  not  then  dreamed  of 
freedom. 

The  final  acceptance  of  the  hill  people's  fate  came 
like  a  deadening  shock  to  the  men  and  women  of 
the  Lost  Mountain  district  —  they  were  forgotten 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  5" 

in  the  new  dispensation;  in  the  readjustment  they 
were  overlooked!  The  Hertfords  left  the  hills  with 
uplifted  and  indignant  heads  —  they  had  the  cour 
age  of  their  convictions  and  meant  to  take  what 
little  was  left  to  them  and  demand  recognition  else 
where  —  they  had  always  been  rovers.  Besides, 
just  at  that  time  Lansing  Hertford  and  Sandford 
Morley,  sworn  friends  and  close  comrades,  had  had 
that  secret  misunderstanding  that  was  only  whis 
pered  about  then,  and  it  made  it  easier  for  Hertford 
to  turn  his  back  upon  his  home  lands  and  leave  them 
to  the  gradual  decay  to  which  they  were  already 
doomed.  The  Waldens  had  retained  enough  of  this 
world's  goods  to  enable  them  to  descend  the  social 
scale  slower  than  their  neighbours.  Inch  by  inch 
they  debated  the  ground,  and  it  was  only  after  the. 
Civil  War  that  Fate  gripped  them  noticeably.  Up 
to  that  time  they  had  been  able  to  hide,  from  the 
none  too  discriminating  natives,  the  true  state  of 
affairs. 

The  Morleys  and  the  Tabers,  the  Townleys  and 
the  Moores,  once  they  recognized  the  true  signifi 
cance  of  what  had  happened,  made  no  struggle; 
uttered  no  defiance.  They  slunk  farther  back  into 
the  hills;  they  shrank  from  observation  and  de 
pended  more  and  more  upon  themselves.  They 
intermarried  and  reaped  the  results  with  sullen  indif 
ference.  Their  hopes  and  longings  sank  into  voice 
less  silence.  Now  and  then  Inheritance,  in  one 


6  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

form  or  another,  flared  forth,  but  before  it  could 
form  itself  into  expression  it  was  stilled  and  for 
bidden,  by  circumstances,  to  assert  itself. 

Sad,  depressed  Lost  Hollow!  Over  it  loomed 
darkly  the  mountain  whose  peak  was  so  often 
shrouded  in  clouds.  The  people  loved  the  hills 
and  the  shadows;  they  glided  like  wan  ghosts  up 
and  down  The  Way  or  took  to  the  more  sheltered 
trails.  When  they  were  sober  they  were  gentle, 
harmless  folk,  but  when  whiskey  overpowered  them 
the  men  became  dully  brutal,  the  women  wretchedly 
slavish,  and  the  children  what  one  might  expect 
such  sad  little  creatures  to  become  I  Lacking  in 
intellect,  misshapen  and  timid,  they  rustled  among 
the  underbrush  like  frightened  animals;  peered 
forth  like  uncanny  gnomes,  and  ate  and  slept  how 
and  as  they  could. 

After  the  Civil  War  these  people  became  "poor 
whites"  and  were  ground  between  the  nether  mill 
stone  of  their  more  prosperous  neighbours  and  that 
of  the  blacks,  until  they  sank  to  the  lowest  level. 
Their  voices  were  hushed  and  forgotten;  their  former 
estate  blotted  out  in  their  present  degradation,  and 
just  then  Sandy  Morley  and  Cynthia  Walden  were 
born  and  some  high  and  just  God  seemed  to 
strengthen  their  childish  voices;  vouchsafe  to  them  a 
vision  and  give  their  Inheritance  charge  over  them. 

Marriage  form  was  not  largely  in  vogue  among  the 
Lost  Hollow  people;  it  was  too  expensive  and  un- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  7 

necessary.  The  rector  of  the  small  church  at  The 
Forge  looked  upon  the  hill  people  as  altogether  beyond 
and  below  the  need  of  any  attention  of  his,  and  was 
genuinely  surprised  and  annoyed  when  one  of  them 
called  upon  him  for  service.  He  had  not  come  to 
The  Forge  from  an  ardour  to  save  souls;  he  had  been 
placed  there  because  he  had  not  been  wanted  else 
where,  and  he  was  rebellious  and  bitter.  Occasion 
ally  he  was  summoned  to  the  mountain  fastnesses 
for  a  burial  or  wedding,  but  he  showed  his  dis 
approval  of  such  interferences  with  his  dignified 
rights,  and  was  not  imposed  upon  often.  But  Mar 
tin  Morley,  Sandy's  father,  had  married  Sandy's 
mother.  She  was  a  Forge  girl  who  believed  in 
Martin  and  loved  him,  so  he  took  her  boldly  to  the 
parsonage,  paid  for  the  service  the  rector  per 
formed,  and  went  his  way. 

There  was  one  happy  year  following  in  the  Morley 
cabin  under  Lost  Mountain.  Martin  worked  as  he 
never  had  before;  the  hut  was  mended  without  and 
made  homelike  within.  The  little  wife  sang  at  her 
tasks  and  inspired  Martin  to  a  degree  of  fervour  that 
brought  him  to  the  conclusion  that  he  must  get 
away!  Get  away  from  the  poverty  and  squalor 
of  The  Hollow;  get  away  farther  than  The  Forge  — 
far,  far  away! 

" After  the  baby  comes!"  the  little  wife  whis 
pered,  "we'll  take  it  to  a  better,  sunnier  place  and 
—  give  it  a  chance!" 


8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  baby  came  on  a  bad,  stormy  night.  Sandford 
Morley  they  called  him.  The  Forge  doctor,  travel 
ling  up  The  Way,  stopped  at  the  Morley  cabin  for  a 
bite  of  supper  and  found  how  things  were.  Sally 
Taber  was  in  command,  and  Martin,  frightened  and 
awed,  crouched  by  the  chimney  corner  in  the  living- 
room,  while  his  girl-wife  (she  was  much  younger  than 
he)  made  her  desperate  fight. 

"There's  only  a  broken  head  or  two  up  at  Teale's 
Blind  Tiger,"  the  doctor  said  grimly;  "they  can 
wait,  I  reckon,  while  I  steer  this  youngster  into 
port."  The  doctor  had  come  from  the  coast  on 
account  of  his  lungs  and  his  speech  still  held  the 
flavour  of  the  sea. 

Sandy  Morley  made  a  difficult  mooring  with  more 
vigour  and  determination  than  one  would  have 
expected,  but  the  cost  was  great.  All  night  the 
battle  waged.  The  doctor,  with  coat  off  and  hag 
gard  face,  fought  with  the  little  mother  inch  by 
inch,  but  at  sunrise,  just  two  hours  after  Sandy 
lustily  announced  his  arrival,  she  let  go  the  hand  of 
her  husband  who  knelt  by  her  hard,  narrow  bed,  and 
whispered  in  the  dialect  of  her  hills,  "  Youcum!"  — 
which  meant  that  Morley  must  come  to  her  some 
where,  some  how,  some  time,  for  she  no  longer  could 
bide  with  him. 

After  that  Martin  stayed  on  in  the  cabin  with  the 
baby.  One  woman  after  another  lent  her  aid  in  an 
hour  of  need,  but  on  the  whole  Sandy  and  his  father 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  9 

made  it  out  together  as  best  they  could.  The  little, 
clinging  fingers  held  Martin  back  for  a  time  —  the 
boy  had  his  mother's  fine,  clear  eyes  and  when  he 
looked  at  Martin  something  commanded  the  man  to 
stand  firm.  In  those  days  Martin  found  comfort  in 
religion  and  became  a  power  at  the  camp  meetings; 
his  prayers  were  renowned  far  and  near,  but  the  evil 
clutched  him  in  an  unguarded  hour  and  one  bleak, 
dreary  springtime  he  met  the  Woman  Mary  and  — 
let  go!  That  was  when  Sandy  was  seven.  He 
brought  Mary  to  the  cabin  and  almost  shamefacedly 
explained,  to  the  wondering  boy,  his  act. 

"Son,  she's  come  to  take  care  of  us  —  mind  your 
ways,  lad." 

Sandy  gave  Mary's  handsome  smiling  face  one 
quick  look,  then  fled  down  the  hill,  across  the  bottom 
pasture  and  Branch,  up  on  the  farther  side  to  the 
woods  —  his  sanctury  and  haven,  and  there,  lifting 
his  eyes  and  little  clenched  fists,  he  moaned  over 
and  over: 

"Curse  her!  curse  her!     I  hate  her!" 

He  had  never  hated  before;  never  cursed,  but  at 
that  moment  he  cursed  that  which  he  hated. 

It  was  early  spring  then,  and  under  the  tall,  dark 
trees  the  dogwood  bushes  were  in  full  bloom.  Sandy 
was  touched,  always,  by  beauty,  and  in  his  excited 
state  he  thought  in  that  desperate  hour  that  the  dog 
wood  blossoms  were  like  stars  under  a  stormy  cloud. 
Heaven  seemed  reaching  down  to  him,  and  closing 


io  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

him  in  —  his  thoughts  were  tinged  by  Martin's 
religious  outbursts  and  the  native  superstition  of  the 
hills.  It  was  then  and  there  that  the  child  first 
knew  he  must  go  away!  The  call  was  distinct  and 
compelling  —  he  must  go  away!  And  from  that 
hour  he  made  preparation.  At  first  the  effort  was 
small  and  pitiful.  He  began  to  gather  whatever 
Nature  provided  freely,  and  turn  it  into  money. 
With  shrewd  perception  he  realized  he  must  over 
come  his  deadly  shyness  and  carry  his  wares  farther 
than  The  Hollow  if  he  wished  to  achieve  that  upon 
which  he  was  bent.  The  Hollow  people  were  poor; 
The  Forge  people  would  give  food  and  clothing  for 
berries  and  sassafras  roots;  but  Sandy  demanded 
money  or  that  which  could  be  exchanged  for  money, 
and  so  he  travelled  far  with  his  basket  of  fragrant 
berries  or  shining  nuts  and  in  time  he  found  himself 
at  the  Waldens'  back  door  facing  a  tall  black  woman, 
in  turban  and  kerchief,  with  the  child  Cynthia  beside 
her. 

"Do  you-all  want  to  buy  eight  quarts  of  wild 
strawberries?"  he  asked  in  that  low  fine  voice  of 
his. 

"Buy?"  demanded  Lily  Ivy  scornfully.  "Miss 
Cyn,  honey,  go  fotch  Miss  Ann  and  tell  her  one  ob 
dem  Morleys  is  here  axing  us-all  to  buy  his  berries, 
and  him  in  shreds  and  tatters!" 

Presently  Cynthia  returned  with  her  aunt.  Miss 
Walden  was  then  sixty,  but  she  looked  seventy-five 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  n 

at  least;  she  was  a  stern,  detached  woman  who  dealt 
with  things  individually  and  as  she  could  —  she 
never  sought  to  comprehend  that  which  was  not 
writ  large  and  clear.  She  was  not  a  dull  nor  an 
ignorant  woman,  but  she  had  been  carried  on  the 
sluggish  current  of  life  with  small  effort  or  resistance. 
She  did  her  task  and  made  no  demands. 

"So  you're  Morley's  boy?"  she  asked  curiously: 
she  had  still  the  interest  of  the  great  lady  for  her 
dependents.  The  Morleys  had  become  long  since 
"poor  whites,"  but  Ann  Walden  knew  their  tradi 
tions.  The  family  had  slunk  into  hiding  ever  since 
Martin  had  taken  the  Woman  Mary  into  his  cabin, 
and  Miss  Walden  was  surprised  and  aroused  to  find 
one  of  them  coming  to  the  surface  at  her  back  door 
with  so  unusual  a  request  as  Cynthia  had  repeated. 

"Yes,  ma'am;"  Sandy  replied,  his  strange  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  calm  old  face. 

"And  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  sell  eight  quarts  of  strawberries, 
ma'am.  They  are  five  cents  a  quart;  that's  what 
they  are  giving  down  to  The  Forge." 

"Then  why  don't  you  take  them  to  The  Forge?" 

"The  heat,  ma'am,  will  wilt  them.  They  are  right 
fresh  now  —  I  thought  I'd  give  you-all  the  first 
chance." 

"And  you  want  money  for  the  berries  —  and  you 
in  rags  and  starved,  I  warrant?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 


12  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Ann  Walden  grew  more  interested. 

"Would  you  —  take  eggs  for  them?"  she  asked; 
"  eggs  are  bringing  twenty  cents  a  dozen  now." 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"How  do  I  know  you  are  honest?  How  do  I  know 
the  basket  isn't  stuffed  with  leaves  in  the  bottom? 
What's  your  name?" 

"Sandy,  ma'am.  And  please,  ma'am,  you  can 
measure  the  berries." 

"Ivy,  bring  the  quart  measure,  and  the  earthen 
bowl." 

When  the  implements  were  brought,  Miss  Wal 
den  took  things  in  her  own  hands,  while  Ivy,  with 
the  disdain  of  the  old  family  black  servant  for  the 
poor  white,  stood  by  like  an  avenging  Fate.  The 
child  Cynthia  was  all  a-tremble.  She  was  young, 
lovely,  and  vital.  Youth  took  up  arms  for  youth, 
and  watched  the  outcome  with  jealous  and  anxious 
eyes. 

"One,  two,  three "  the  rich,  fragrant  fruit  fell 

into  the  bowl  with  luscious,  soft  thuds;  the  red  juice 
oozed  out  like  fresh  blood. 

"Five,  six,  seven  —  eight,  and " 

"A  lot  left  over,  Aunt  Ann,  counting  dents  in  the 
measure  and  all." 

It  was  Cynthia  who  spoke,  and  her  big,  gray  eyes 
were  dancing  in  triumph. 

"More'n  eight  quarts,  Aunt  Ann." 

"Umph!"  ejaculated  Ivy. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  13 

"Give  the  boy  two  dozen  eggs  and  three  over," 
commanded  Miss  Walden.  "Take  them  to  Tod 
Greeley  at  the  post  office  and  tell  him  they  are 
Walden  eggs." 

After  Sandy  had  departed  Ivy  aired  her  views. 

"I  reckon  we-all  better  make  jam  of  dem  berries 
right  soon.  I  clar  I  allers  'spect  to  find  a  yaller 
streak  in  dem  Morleys." 

Cynthia  was  leaning  against  the  kitchen  tablev 
her  eyes  shining  and  her  breath  coming  a  bit  quickly, 

"Perhaps,"  she  said,  with  the  slow  smile  which 
curled  the  corners  of  her  mouth  so  deliciously,  "per 
haps  the  yellow  streak  in  Sandy  Morley  is  —  gold !  '* 

That  was  the  beginning  of  Sandy's  first  great 
inspiration.  Again  and  again  he  went  to  the  Walden 
place  with  his  wares  and  exchanged  them  for  things 
that  could  be  readily  turned  into  money.  Then 
Cynthia,  from  out  her  own  generous  loveliness, 
offered  to  pass  over  the  instruction  Ann  Walden  im 
parted  to  her,  to  the  boy;  he  had  before  that  told 
her  of  his  ambition  and  determination  to  goaway,  and 
her  vivid  imagination  was  stirred, 

"It's  not  only  money,"  Cynthia  had  astutely 
warned  him  —  "not  only  money  you  must  have, 
Sandy,  but  learning;  no  one  can  take  that  away  from 
you!" 

With  a  fine  air  of  the  benefactress,  Cynthia 
Walden  took  Sandy  Morley's  dense  ignorance  in 
charge.  It  was  quite  in  keeping  with  the  girl's  idea 


14  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  things  as  they  ought  to  be,  that  she  should  thus 
illumine  and  guide  the  boy's  path. 

She  was  charmingly  firm  but  delightfully  playful. 
She  was  a  hard  mistress  but  a  lovely  child,  and  the 
youth  that  was  starving  in  her  met  Sandy  on  a  level, 
untouched  by  conventions  or  traditions.  Presently 
a  palpitating  sense  of  power  and  possession  came  to 
her.  The  creature  who  was  at  first  but  the  recipient 
of  her  charity  and  nobility  displayed  traits  that  com 
pelled  respect  and  admiration.  Sandy  easily  out 
stripped  her  after  a  time.  His  questions  put  her  on 
her  mettle.  He  never  overstepped  the  bounds  that 
she  in  her  pretty  childish  fancy  set,  but  he  reached 
across  them  with  pleading  adoration  and  hungry 
mind.  He  seemed  to  urge  her  to  get  for  him  what  he 
could  not  get  for  himself.  And  so,  with  the  freedom 
of  knowledge,  Sandy,  still  keeping  to  his  place,  began 
to  assume  proportions  and  importance  quite  thrilling. 
Then  it  was  that  Cynthia  Walden,  with  keenness  and 
foresight,  made  her  claims  upon  the  boy. 

With  a  pretty  show  of  condescending  kindness  she 
clutched  him  to  her  with  invisible  ties.  For  her  he 
must  do  thus  and  so!  He  must  become  a  great  — 
oh  I  a  very  great  —  man  and  give  her  all  the  credit! 
I£  he  went  away  —  when  he  went  away  —  he  must 
never,  never,  never  forget  her  or  what  she  had  done 
for  him!  In  short,  he  must  be  her  abject  slave  and 
pay  homage  to  her  all  the  days  of  his  life! 

Sandy  was  quite  willing  to  comply  with  all  these 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  15 

demands;  they  were  made  in  a  spirit  so  sweet  and 
winsome,  and  they  were  so  obviously  simple  and 
just,  that  he  rose  to  the  call  with  grateful  response, 
but  with  that  strange  something  in  reserve  that 
Cynthia  could  not  then  understand  or  classify.  It 
was  as  though  Sandy  had  said  to  her:  "Your 
slave?  Yes,  but  no  fetters  or  chains,  thank  you!" 

Soon  after  Mary  came  to  live  in  the  Morley  cabin 
Sandy  was  relegated  to  an  old  outhouse  for  sleeping 
quarters.  The  child  had  been  horribly  frightened  at 
first,  but,  as  the  quarrels  and  disturbances  grew  in 
power  between  Martin  and  the  woman,  he  was  grate 
ful  for  the  quiet  and  detachment  of  his  bed-chamber. 
A  child  was  born  to  Mary  and  Martin  during  the  year 
following  the  change  in  the  family,  but  Sandy  looked 
upon  his  half-sister  with  little  interest.  That  the 
boy  was  not  driven  entirely  from  the  home  place 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  through  him  came  the  only 
money  available.  Martin  exchanged  his  spasmodic 
labour  for  clothing  or  food,  but  Sandy  brought  cash. 
Mary  thought  he  gave  her  all,  and  because  of  that 
he  was  tolerated. 

Sandy  did  not,  however,  give  the  woman  all,  or 
even  half  of  what  he  earned.  He  gave  her  one  third; 
the  rest  was  placed  in  a  tin  box  and  hidden  under  a 
rock  in  the  woods  beyond  the  Branch.  The  boy 
never  counted  the  money,  he  could  not  put  himself 
to  that  test  of  discouragement  or  elation.  The  time 
was  not  yet,  and  it  was  significant  of  him  that  he 


16  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

plodded  along,  doing  the  best  that  was  in  him,  until 
the  call  came;  the  last  final  call  to  leave  all  and  go 
forth. 

Once,  during  the  years  between  seven  and  four 
teen,  Sandy  had  had  an  awakening  and  a  warning. 
Then  it  was  that  his  half-sister,  Molly,  became  a 
distinct  and  potent  factor  in  his  life;  one  with 
which  he  must  reckon.  Going  to  the  rock  on  a  cer 
tain  evening  to  bury  his  share  of  the  day's  profit 
he  wearily  raised  the  stone,  deposited  the  money 
and  turned  to  go  home,  when  he  encountered  Molly 
peering  at  him  with  elfish  and  menacing  eyes  from 
behind  a  bush. 

"What  you  doing  there,  yo'  Sandy?"  she  asked 
half  coaxingly,  half  threateningly. 

"Nothing." 

"I  seen  you  —  a-hiding  something.  I'm  going 
to  look!"  She  made  a  movement  forward. 

"Hyar!  you  Molly!"  Sandy  clung  to  her.  "If 
you  raise  that  stone  'twill  be  the  last  of  you.  I've 
got  a  horned  toad  there  and  —  a  poison  sarpint." 

"Then  I'll  —  I'll  tell  Dad."  Molly  shrank  back, 
though  not  wholly  convinced.  It  was  time  for 
compromise,  and  Sandy,  with  a  sickening  fear,  recog 
nized  it  and  blindly  fell  upon  the  one  thing  that  could 
have  swayed  the  girl. 

"I'm  a-training  and  taming  them,"  he  lied  des 
perately,  "and  when  they  are  ready  we-all  can  make 
money  out  of  them,  but  if  you  tell  —  Dad  will  kill 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  17 

'em!  I  tell  you,  Molly,  if  you  don't  say  a  single 
thing  I'll  —  I'll  give  you  a  cent  every  week.  A  cent 
to  buy  candy  with!" 

The  promise  was  given,  and  from  that  day  Sandy 
paid  his  blood  money,  hoping  that  greed  would  hold 
the  child  to  her  bargain,  but  with  always  a  feeling 
of  insecurity.  He  changed  his  box  to  another  rock, 
but  a  certain  uncanniness  about  Molly  gained  a 
power  over  him  and  he  never  felt  safe. 

Things  went  rapidly  from  bad  to  worse  in  the 
Morley  cabin.  Martin  forgot  his  prayers  and  ambi 
tions;  he  grew  subservient  to  Mary  and  never  strove 
against  her,  even  when  her  wrath  and  temper  were 
directed  toward  him  and  Sandy.  Discredited  and 
disliked  by  his  neighbours,  flouted  by  the  woman 
who  had  used  him  for  her  own  gain,  the  man  became 
a  detestable  and  pitiable  creature.  Sandy  endured 
the  blows  and  ratings  that  became  his  portion,  in  the 
family  disturbances,  with  proud  silence.  He  was 
making  ready  and  until  the  hour  of  his  departure 
came  he  must  bear  his  part. 

It  was  during  the  probation  and  preparatory 
period  that  Marcia  Lowe,  the  Cup-of-Cold-Water 
Lady,  came  up  The  Way  one  golden  afternoon  and 
stopped  her  horse  before  the  post  office,  General 
Store  and  County  Club  of  The  Hollow,  and,  leaning 
out  from  the  ramshackle  buggy,  gave  a  rather  high, 
nasal  call  to  whoever  might  be  within. 


CHAPTER  II 

TOD  GREELEY,  the  postmaster,  was  sitting 
on  his  cracker  box  contemplatively  eying 
the  rusty  stove  enthroned  upon  its  sawdust 
platform,  in  the  middle  of  the  store.  Every  man  in 
The  Hollow  had  his  own  particular  chair  or  box  when 
the  circle,  known  as  the  County  Club,  formed  for  re 
creation  or  business.  No  one  presumed  to  occupy  an 
other's  place:  Tod  Greeley's  pedestal  was  a  cracker 
box  and  its  sides  were  well  battered  from  the  blows 
his  heels  gave  it  when  emotions  ran  high  or  his  senti 
ments  differed  from  his  neighbour's.  Greeley  was 
not  a  Hollow  man;  he  had  been  selected  by  Provi 
dence,  as  he  himself  would  have  said,  to  perform  a 
service  for  his  country:  namely,  that  of  post 
master,  storekeeper,  and  arbiter  of  things  in  general. 
He  was  a  tall,  lean  man  of  forty,  good  looking,  indo 
lent,  and  with  some  force  of  character  which  was 
mainly  evinced  by  his  power  of  keeping  his  temper 
when  he  was  facing  a  critical  situation.  While  not 
of  The  Hollow,  he  was  still  with  The  Hollow  on  prin 
ciple. 

When  Marcia  Lowe  paused  before  the  store  and 
emitted  her  call,  which  flavoured  of  friendliness  and 

18 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  19 

the  North,  Greeley  was  vacantly  looking  into  space, 
hugging  his  bony  knees,  and  listening  to  an  indignant 
fly  buzzing  on  the  dirty  glass  of  the  back  window, 
protesting  against  any  exit  being  barred  to  its  egress. 

It  was  three  o'clock  of  a  late  July  day  and,  while 
the  sun  was  hot,  the  breeze  gave  promise  of  a  cool 
night. 

"Oohiooh!" 

Just  at  first  Greeley  thought  the  fly  had  adopted 
a  more  militant  tone. 

"Oooh  —  ooh!" 

Greeley  pulled  himself  together,  mentally  and 
physically,  and  stalked  to  the  porch;  there  he  en 
countered  the  very  frank,  smiling  face  of  a  rather 
attractive  youngish  woman  who  greeted  him  cor 
dially  with  a  high-pitched  but  sweet: 

"Good  afternoon." 

"Good  evening,  ma'am,"  Tod  returned. 

"I  just  came  up  from  The  Forge;  your  roads  are 
really  scandalous,  but  the  scenery  is  beautiful.  I 
want  to  see  if  there  is  any  place  near  here  where  I 
I  can  get  board?  I've  come  to  stay  for  a  while,  any 
way;  probably  for  years,  at  least." 

The  young  person  seemed  so  eager  to  share  her  con 
fidence  that  Greeley  was  on  his  guard  at  once.  He 
did  not  approve  of  the  stills  back  among  the  hills, 
but  he  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  assist  any  govern 
ment  spy  in  her  work,  no  matter  how  attractive  and 
subtle  the  spy  was. 


20  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

It  was  two  years  now  since  a  certain  consumptive- 
looking  young  man  had  caused  the  upheaval  of  a 
private  enterprise  back  of  The  Hollow  and  made  so 
much  unpleasantness,  but  Norman  Teale  had  served 
his  term  in  prison  and  had  got  on  his  feet  once  more, 
and  Greeley  had  a  momentary  touch  of  sympathy 
for  the  Speak-Easy  magnates  as  he  glanced  up  at  thk 
new  style  of  spy. 

"Nobody  stays  on  in  The  Hollow  lest  he  has  to," he 
said  cautiously,  "and  as  for  boarding-places,  there 
never  was  such  a  thing  here,  I  reckon.  I  certainly 
don't  expect  they  would  take  any  one  in  at  the 
Walden  place,  not  if  they-all  was  starving.  Miss 
Ann  Walden  is  quality  from  way  back.  The  Morleys 
couldn't  entertain,  and  what's  true  of  the  Morleys 
is  true  of  all  the  others." 

"Couldn't  you  folks  take  me?" 

At  this  Greeley  collapsed  on  the  one  chair  of  the 
porch,  and  actually  gasped. 

"I  ain't  got  what  you  might  call  folks,"  he 
managed  to  say,  "unless  you  call  a  brace  of  dogs, 
folks." 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon."  Miss  Lowe  flushed 
and  gave  a  nervous  laugh.  "You  see  I  just  must 
manage  to  find  a  home  here,  and  —  and  I've  heard 
so  much  of  Southern  chivalry  and  hospitality  I  rather 
hoped  some  one  would  take  me  in  until  I  could  look 
around.  The  place  at  The  'Forge,  where  I've  been 
for  two  nights  is  —  impossible,  and  the  darkies  have 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  21 

their  hands  stretched  out  for  tips  until  I  feel  like  a 
palmist,  and  a  bankrupt  one  at  that  I" 

A  merry  laugh  rang  out  and  in  spite  of  himself  and 
his  grave  doubts  Greeley  relaxed. 

"If  you  don't  mind  doing  for  yourself,"  he  ven 
tured,  "there's  a  cabin  over  to  Trouble  Neck  that 
you  might  get." 

"Do  for  myself?"  Miss  Lowe  cried  energetically. 
"I'd  just  favour  that  plan,  I  can  tell  you!  I  could 
get  all  the  furniture  I  need  at  The  Forge,  I  am  sure. 
The  name  of  the  place  isn't  exactly  cheering,  but 
then  I've  waded  through  trouble  and  got  on  top  all 
my  life  long.  Who  owns  the  cabin  over  at  Trouble 
Neck?" 

Property  rights  in  and  around  The  Hollow  were 
rarely  discussed;  it  was  a  delicate  question,  but  what 
was  not  actually  held  down  by  another  generally 
was  conceded  to  a  certain  Smith  Crothers  and  to 
his  credit  Tod  Greeley  now  put  the  Trouble  Neck 
cabin. 

"Oh!  He's  the  man  who  owns  the  factory  a  few 
miles  from  The  Forge?  I  drove  past  it  yesterday  at 
noon  time.  I  thought  it  was  an  orphan  asylum  at 
first.  I  never  saw  such  babies  put  to  work  before. 
It's  monstrous  and  the  law  ought  to  shut  down  on 
your  Smith  Crothers!" 

At  this  Greeley  had  a  distinct  sensation  of  pain 
in  the  region  known  as  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  That 
Smith  Crothers  should  fall  under  any  law  had  never 


22  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

been  dreamed  of  by  mortal  man  or  woman  in 
Greeley's  presence  before.  The  right  of  free 
whiskey  was  one  thing;  the  right  of  a  man  to  util 
ize  the  children  of  the  district  was  another! 

"He  ain't  my  Smith  Crothers!"  Greeley  inanely 
returned,  feeling  in  a  dazed  way  that  he  did  not 
want  to  put  in  any  claim  for  Crothers  with  those 
apparently  innocent  eyes  upon  him. 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  buy  the  Trouble  Neck  place 
from  Smith  Crothers  at  once.  You  see  I've  been 
very  sick;  they  said  I'd  lost  my  health,  but  I  know 
I've  only  misplaced  it." 

Again  the  cheerful  laugh  set  Greeley's  nerves 
tingling. 

"They-all  say  that  when  they-all  come  up  here." 

Greeley  felt  in  honour  bound  to  give  the  young 
woman  a  hint  as  to  his  reading  of  her  and  her 
mission. 

"It's  a  good  spot,  then,  for  weak  lungs?" 

"None  better,"  Tod  nodded  sagely,  "but  they 
don't  last  long." 

"What?  The  weak  lungs?  That's  splendid! 
And  now  would  you  mind  giving  my  horse  a  drink? 
Isn't  it  funny  what  nice  horses  they  manage  to  evolve 
in  the  South  on  food  that  would  end  a  cart-horse's 
existence  up  North?  But  such  vehicles!  Do  look 
at  this  buggy!  And  no  springs  to  mention.  My! 
but  my  back  will  ache  to-morrow." 

By  this  time  Greeley  had  procured  a  pail  of  water 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  ,  23 

and  was  courteously  holding  it  to  the  nose  of  the 
very  grateful  horse. 

"I  wonder,"  Miss  Lowe  casually  remarked,  as  she 
let  the  reins  fall  in  lap  and  looked  about,  "if  you 
happen  to  have  known  a  Theodore  Starr  who  once 
lived  here?" 

"I've  heard  of  him,"  Tod  returned;  "I  ain't  a 
Hollow  man.  I  only  came  here  on  business  six 
years  ago,  but  the  memory  of  Starr  sort  of  clings 
like  it  was  a  good  thing  to  keep  alive." 

"How  beautifully  you  put  it!" 

Greeley  was  thinking  how  well  the  government  had 
stocked  this  dangerous  spy  with  facts,  and  so  he  did 
not  observe  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"There  was  a  little  church  he  built  himself  —  is 
it  still  standing?  You  may  not  have  heard,  but  he 
had  a  very  simple  little  religion  quite  his  own.  He 
thought  the  people  up  here  were  more  in  need  of  help 
than  foreign  folks,  but  no  regular  sect  would  —  would 
handle  him.  So  he  came  up  a  road  he  used  to  call 
The  Appointed  Way  and  just  settled  down  and 
learned  to  love  all  —  the  people  and  the  work!" 

Greeley  was  so  utterly  amazed  that  the  hands 
which  held  the  pail  shook  with  excitement. 

"That  road  what  you  came  up  is  called  The  Way — 
short  for  Appointed  Way.  Yon  is  the  little  church." 

Marcia  Lowe  raised  up  and  through  the  thicket 
behind  her  she  saw  the  deserted  structure,  which  still 
bore  the  outlines  of  a  church. 


24  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Why,  it's  all  boarded  up!"  she  exclaimed.  "Who 
owns  it  now?" 

The  exacting  nature  of  the  stranger's  questions 
was  unsettling  to  Greeley.  She  seemed  determined 
to  tag  and  classify  all  the  real  estate  in  the  county. 

"No  one  ain't  damaged  the  building,"  he  said 
drawlingly;  "some  of  the  folks  think  it  is  han'ted.  I 
reckon  Smith  Crothers  owns  it." 

"That  man  owns  too  much!"  Marcia  Lowe  gave 
again  her  penetrating  laugh.  "And  I  should  think 
the  place  would  be  haunted.  Just  think  of  boarding 
Uncle  Theodore  up!  He  who  loved  sunshine  and 
air  and  sweetness  so  much!" 

At  this  Greeley  dropped  the  pail  to  the  ground, 
and  the  indignant  horse  reared  angrily.  This  was 
carrying  things  too  far,  and  the  man's  eyes  flashed. 

"Uncle?"  he  gasped  sternly. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Theodore  Starr.  He  was  my  mother's 
brother.  I  have  no  one  to  keep  me  away  now  — 
and  I  loved  him  so  when  I  was  a  little  child.  They 
say  I  am  much  like  him  —  but  then  you  never  saw 
him.  Lately  I've  been  real  homesick  for  him.  He 
seemed  to  be  calling  me  from  the  hills.  I'm  going 
to  get  your  Smith  Crothers  to  let  me  open  up  the 
little  church.  I  want  the  sunshine  to  get  in  and  — 
and  Uncle  Theodore  to  —  get  out!  I'm  going  to 
find  where  they  buried  him,  and  make  that  a  beauti 
ful  place  too.  You  see  I've  a  good  deal  to  do  up 
here!  Besides,"  and  now  the  cheerful  face  beamed 


A  SON  OF  THE  HIILS  25 

radiantly  on  the  gaping  postmaster,  "Pm  like  Uncle 
Starr  in  more  ways  than  one.  He  learned  to  mend 
men's  souls  and  I  have  learned  to  mend  their  bodies 
—  it's  much  the  same,  you  know  —  when  you  love 
it.  I'm  —  well,  I'm  an  M.  D.,  a  medical  doctor  — 
Doctor  Marcia  Lowe!" 

At  this  Greeley  dropped  on  the  bottom  step  of  the 
porch,  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  and  emitted  one  word. 

"Gawd!"  He  was  not  a  profane  man,  but  the 
audacity  of  this  stranger  who  was  about  to  settle 
down  among  them  for  purposes  best  known  to  herself, 
and  them  who  sent  her,  quite  overcame  him.  Mar 
cia  Lowe  gave  a  hearty  laugh  and  gathered  the 
reins. 

"I  suppose  you  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  up 
here?"  she  asked  amusedly,  "but  they  are  getting 
commoner  down  where  I  hail  from.  It's  all  very  fool 
ish  —  the  restrictions  about  a  woman,  you  know. 
She  can  nurse  a  body  up  to  the  doors  of  death,  but 
it's  taken  a  good  while  to  bring  people  around  to  see 
ing  that  she  can  mend  a  body  as  well,  just  as  well  as 
a  man.  You  will  let  me  stay  among  you  anyway,  I 
am  sure.  I  do  not  want  to  physic  you.  It  is  so 
much  more  interesting  to  live  close  and  help  along. 
Good-bye,  Mr.  Greeley  —  you  see  your  name  is  over 
the  door!  I  am,  do  not  forget"  -  the  woman's  eyes 
twinkled  mischievously--  "Doctor  Marcia  Lowe  of 
Torrance,  Mass.  Good-bye!  You  have  been  very 


26  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

kind  and  helpful.  I  feel  that  you  and  I  will  be 
good  friends.  Get-up,  pony!" 

She  flapped  the  reins  in  the  most  unprofessional 
manner,  and  the  horse  turned  to  The  Appointed 
Way  with  briskness  that  bespoke  his  impatience 
and  a  desire  for  more  familiar  scenes. 

With  curious  eyes  Greeley  watched  the  ram 
shackle  buggy  bounce  up  and  down  over  the  rutty 
road;  he  saw  the  small,  slight  figure  bob  about  un 
comfortably  on  the  uneven  seat,  and  when  the  con 
veyance  was  lost  behind  the  trees  he  went  inside 
with  a  sure  sense  that  something  was  going  to  happen 
in  The  Hollow. 

Once  again  within  his  own  domain  he  sought  his 
cracker  box  as  if  it  were  his  sanctuary.  The  fly  was 
still  protesting  against  the  dirty  window,  and  the 
stillness,  except  for  the  buzzing,  was  unbroken. 

Presently,  from  out  the  nowhere  apparently,  old 
Andrew  Townley  came  in  and  shuffled  across  the 
floor  to  the  armchair  by  the  stove.  Then  Mason 
Hope  appeared,  hands  in  pockets  and  lank  hair  fall 
ing  on  his  shoulders.  Norman  Teale  came  next,  with 
Tansey  Moore  in  tow. 

"Howdy,  Tod?"  was  the  universal  greeting  as  the 
County  Club  took  its  place.  The  chair  of  Smith 
Crothers,  and  two  or  three  overturned  potato 
baskets  —  seats  of  the  junior  members  of  the  club 
—  were  empty.  It  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  any 
man  present  to  question  what  had  just  occurred, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  27 

but  every  son  of  them  had  witnessed  it  and  in  due 
time  would  touch  upon  the  subject. 

The  stove,  summer  and  winter,  focussed  their 
wandering  eyes  and  acted  as  a  stimulus  to  their  dor 
mant  faculties.  From  long  practice  and  inheritance 
every  man  could  aim  and  hit  the  sawdust  under  the 
stove  when  he  expectorated.  Even  old  Andrew 
Townley  had  never  been  known  to  fail. 

"There  be  some  right  good  horses  down  to  The 
Forge,"  Tansey  Moore  ventured  after  a  while. 

"It's  a  blamed  risky  thing,  though,"  said  Mason 
Hope,  "to  let  a  —  lady  drive  'em.  I've  allus  noticed 
that  a  woman  is  more  sot  on  gittin'  where  she  wants 
to  git  —  than  to  considering  how  to  git  there.  It's 
mighty  risky  to  trust  horseflesh  to  a  female.  They 
seem  to  reckon  all  horses  is  machines." 

"I've  seen  men  as  didn't  know  a  hoss  from  a  steam 
engine,"  Norman  Teale  broke  in,  glancing  sharply  at 
Moore.  "Times  is  when  a  hoss  has  to  be  sacrificed  to 
man  —  but  I  reckon  The  Forge  folks  was  taking  some 
risks  when  they-all  hired  out  a  team  to  a  stranger." 

"That  stranger,"  said  Greeley,  hitting  the  nail  on 
the  head  with  a  violence  that  brought  his  audience  to 
an  upright  position,  "ain't  nothing  short  of,  to  my 
mind,  than"  —he  glanced  at  Teale  —  "well,  she 
ain't,  and  that's  my  opinion!  She  comes  loaded 
with  facts  up  to  her  teeth.  Knows  all  the  names, 
and  says  she's  going  to  settle  down  over  to 
Trouble  Neck  and  —  live  along  with  us-all  quite  a 


28  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

spell.     Weak  lungs  and  all,  but  she's  a  right  new 
brand." 

"Hell!"  ejaculated  Teale,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"  If  the  government  has  got  so  low  that  it  has  to 
trifle  with  ladies  —  it's  in  a  bad  way.  I  reckon  I 
better  git  a-movihg.  Any  mail,  Tod?  I  take  it 
right  friendly  that  you  give  me  this  hint.  A  lady 
may  be  hard  to  handle  in  some  ways,  but  we-all  can 
at  least  know  where  she  is  —  that's  something." 

After  the  departure  of  Teale  the  club  fell  into 
moody  gloom.  It  was  always  upsetting  to  have 
outside  interference  with  their  affairs.  Even  if 
Teale  wasn't  arrested  the  whiskey  would  be  limited 
for  a  time,  and  that  was  a  drawback  to  manly 
rights. 

Andrew  Townley  fell  into  an  audible  doze;  he 
was  the  oldest  inhabitant  and  a  respected  citizen. 
He  was  given  to  periods  of  senile  dementia  preceded 
or  followed  by  flashes  of  almost  superhuman  intelli 
gence.  There  were  times  when,  arousing  suddenly 
from  sleep,  he  would  bring  some  startling  memory 
with  him  that  would  electrify  his  hearers.  He  was 
an  institution  and  a  relic  —  every  one  revered  him 
and  looked  to  his  simple  comfort.  Suddenly  now, 
as  the  dense  silence  enveloped  the  club,  old  Andrew 
awoke  and  remarked  vividly: 

"I  was  a-dreaming  of  Theodore  Starr!" 
"Now  what  in  thunder!"  cried  Tod  Greeley,  who 
had  purposely  refrained  from  mentioning  some  part 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  29 

of  his  late  visitor's  conversation,  —  "what  made  you 
think  of  —  Theodore  Starr?" 

"I  reckon,"  whined  the  trembling  old  voice, 
"that  it  was  'long  o'  Liza  Hope.  I  was  a-passing 
by  and  I  heard  her  calling  on  God-a'mighty  to  stand 
by  her  in  her  hour.  Theodore  Starr  was  mighty 
pitiful  of  women  in  their  hours." 

Mason  Hope  felt  called  upon,  at  this,  to  explain 
and  apologize.  He  did  so  with  the  patient  air  of  one 
detached  and  disdainful. 

"Liza  do  make  a  powerful  scene  when  she  is 
called  to  pass  through  her  trial.  This  is  her  ninth, 
and  I  done  urged  her  to  act  sensible,  but  when  I  saw 
how  it  was  going  with  her,  I  just  left  her  to  reason  it 
out  along  her  own  lines.  Sally  Taber  is  sitting  'long 
of  her  ready  to  help  when  the  time  comes.  I  done 
all  I  could."  Tansey  Moore  nodded  significantly. 
He  had  an  unreasonable  wife  of  his  own,  and  he  had 
no  sympathy  with  women  in  their  "hours." 

"Theodore  Starr,  he  done  say,"  Townley  was 
becoming  lachrymose,  "that  women  got  mighty  nigh 
to  God  when  they  reached  up  to  Him  in  their  trial 
and  offered  life  for  a  life.  He  done  say  if  God  didn't 
forgive  a  woman  every  earthly  thing  for  such  suffer 
ing,  he  was  no  good  God.  He  done  say  that  to  me 
onct." 

"That  be  plain  blasphemy,"  Tansey  Moore  re 
marked.  "I  reckon  he  was  a  right  poor  parson. 
The  religion  he  doctored  with  was  all  soothin'  syrup 


30  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

and  mighty  diluted  at  that,  where  women  was  con 
cerned.  I  never  trusted  that  Yankee." 

"The  women,  children,  and  old  folks  counted  some 
on  him  in  his  day."  Greeley  was  getting  interested 
in  this  heretofore  myth.  Moore  nodded  his  head 
suspiciously 

"They  sho'  did,  and  a  mess  they  made  of  it.  Did 
you  ever  hear  'bout  his  mix-up  with  the  Walden 
girls?" 

Greeley  never  had  and,  as  the  last  Walden  "girl" 
Was  a  woman  of  sixty  and  over,  he  looked  puzzled. 

"Miss  Ann,  her  as  is  now,  was  considerable  older 
than  Theodore  Starr,  but  she  shined  up  to  him  and 
let  him  lead  her  about  considerable  —  some  said 
him  and  her  was  —  engaged  to  marry.  Then  there 
was  the  Walden  girl  as  isn't  now,  her  they  called 
Queenie.  She  was  a  right  pert  little  thing  what 
growed  into  a  woman  like  a  Jonas  gourd,  sudden  and 
startling!  That  was  the  summer  that  young  Lan 
sing  Hertford  came  back  to  the  old  home  place  of  his 
forebears  to  look  about  —  there  was  a  general  mess  of 
things  up  to  Stoneledge  those  days,  and  all  I  know 
is  that  Starr  he  went  up  into  the  hills  to  nurse  a 
fever  plague  and  there  he  died.  Lansing  Hertford 
went  off  like  a  shot  —  but  them  Hertfords  allus  lit 
out  like  they  was  chased  —  never  could  stand  lone 
liness  and  lack  of  luxury.  Queenie,  she  done  died  the 
winter  following  that  summer;  died  of  lung  trouble 
off  to  some  hospital  way  off  somewhere,  and  Miss 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  31 

Ann  she  settled  down  —  an  old  woman  from  that 
time  on!  You  can't  get  her  to  speak  Starr's  name. 
You  never  could.  Us-all  tried.  When  things  got 
too  hard  for  Miss  Ann  she  done  adopt  little  Miss 
Cyn  —  that  chile  has  considerable  brightened  up 
Miss  Ann,  but  Lord!  she  never  was  the  same  after 
that  summer,  and  I  hold,  and  allus  shall,  that  Starr 
wasn't  what  we-all  thought  him  at  first.  A  man 
don't  go  dying  off  in  the  hills  for  folks  what  hadn't 
any  call  upon  him,  lest  he  has  a  reason  for  doing  so." 

Moore  loved  to  talk.  Some  one  always  has  to  be 
the  orator  of  a  club,  and  Tansey,  self-elected,  filled 
this  position  in  the  circle  around  the  old  stove. 
Greeley  was  bored.  Past  history  did  not  concern 
him  and  Moore's  opinions  he  ignored.  He  had  not 
been  listening  closely,  for  his  thoughts  would,  in  spite 
of  him,  follow  the  ramshackle  buggy  down  The  Way. 

"She  had  a  right  pleasant  look  and  manner," 
he  pondered.  "I  reckon  she'll  get  some  fun  out  of 
her  job,  no  matter  what  that  job  is." 


CHAPTER  III 

TTT  WAS  something  of  a  jog  to  The  Hollow  people 
to  find  Miss  Lowe  actually  settled  at  Trouble 
JL  Neck.  They  had  looked  upon  the  possibility  of 
her  coming  as  an  evil  which  threatened  but  might  be 
averted.  She  had  come,  however;  had  actually 
bought  the  cabin  from  Smith  Crothers,  and  fitted 
it  up  in  a  manner  never  known  to  cabin  folks  before. 

Through  all  the  pleasant  summer  days  the  broad 
door  of  the  little  house  stood  invitingly  open  and 
flowers  had  grown  up  as  if  by  magic  in  the  tiny  front 
yard.  A  few  choice  hens  and  roosters  strutted 
around  the  rear  of  the  cabin  quite  at  home,  and  a 
bright  yellow  cat  purred  and  dozed  on  the  tiny  porch 
by  day  and  slept  in  the  lean-to  bedroom  by  night. 

"She  takes  a  mighty  heap  of  trouble  to  hide  her 
tracks,"  Norman  Teale  confided  to  Tansey  Moore; 
"but  spy  is  writ  large  and  plain  all  over  her.  I  put 
it  to  you,  Moore,  would  any  one  that  didn't  have  to, 
come  to  Trouble  Neck?" 

Tansey  thought  not,  decidedly. 

"And  did  you  ever  hear  on  a  woman  doctor?" 

Again  Tansey  shook  his  head. 

"That  woman's  bent  on  mischief,"  Teale  went  on. 

32 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  33 

"I  got  chivalry  and  I've  got  honour  for  womanhood  in 
my  nater  when  womanhood  keeps  to  its  place,  but 
I  tell  you,  Moore,  right  here  and  now,  if  that  young 
person  from  Trouble  Neck  comes  loitering  'round 
my  business,  I'm  going  to  treat  her  like  what  I  would 
a  man.  No  better;  no  worse." 

Moore  considered  this  a  very  broad  and  charitable 
way  of  looking  upon  what  was,  at  best,  a  doubtful 
business. 

But  Marcia  Lowe  did  not  seekTeale  out,  and  if  his 
affairs  interested  her,  she  hid  her  sentiments  in  a 
charming  manner.  He<r  aim,  apparently,  was  to 
reach  the  women  and  children.  To  her  door  she 
won  Sandy  Morley  with  the  lure  of  money  for  his 
wares.  The  second  time  Sandy  called  he  told  her  of 
his  ambitions  and  she  fired  him  to  greater  effort  by 
telling  him  of  her  home  state,  Massachusetts. 

"Why,  Sandy,"  she  explained,  "when  you  are 
ready,  do  go  there.  In  exchange  for  certain  work 
they  will  make  it  possible  for  you  to  get  an  educa 
tion.  I  know  plenty  of  boys  who  have  worked  their 
way  through  college  with  less  than  you  have  to  offer. 
Get  a  little  more  money  and  learning,  and  then  go 
direct  to  Massachusetts!" 

Sandy's  breath  came  quick  and  fast.  Work  was 
part  of  his  daily  life,  but  that  it  and  education  could 
be  combined  he  had  not  considered.  From  that 
time  on  his  aim  became  localized  and  vital. 

"Perhaps   I   can  help  you   a  bit?"    Miss  Lowe 


34  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

had  suggested.  She  was  often  so  lonely  that  the 
idea  of  having  this  bright,  interesting  boy  with  her 
at  times  was  delightful. 

"I'll  —  I'll  bring  all  your  vegetables  to  you  if  you 
will,"  Sandy  panted.  "  I'll  dig  your  garden  and  weed 
it.  I'll " 

"Stop!  stop!  Sandy."  Miss  Lowe  laughed,  de 
lighted.  "If  you  offer  so  much  in  Massachusetts 
they  will  give  you  two  educations.  They're  ter 
ribly  honest  folks  and  cannot  abide  being  under 
obligations." 

So  Sandy  came;  did  certain  chores  and  was  given 
glimpses  of  fields  of  learning  that  filled  him  at  first 
with  alternate  despair  and  exultation.  He  con 
fided  his  new  opportunity  to  Cynthia  Walden  and  to 
his  amazement  that  young  woman  greeted  his  suc 
cess  with  anything  but  joy. 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  right  glad,"  said  Sandy,  some 
what  dashed.  "I  thought  you  wanted  me  to  learn 
and  get  on." 

"So  I  do,"  Cynthia  admitted,  "but  I  wanted  to  do 
it  all  for  you,  until  you  went  away." 

"What's  the  difference?"  argued  poor  Sandy. 

It  was  middle  August  before  Marcia  Lowe  took  her 
courage  in  her  hands  and  went  to  see  Miss  Ann  Wal 
den.  With  city  ways  still  asserting  themselves  now 
and  again  in  her  thought,  she  had  waited  for  Miss 
Walden  to  call,  but,  apparently,  no  such  intention 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  mistress  of  Stoneledge. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  35 

"Perhaps  after  a  bit  she  will  write  and  invite  me 
up  there,"  Marcia  Lowe  then  pondered.  But  no 
invitation  came,  and  finally  the  little  doctor's  tem 
per  rose. 

"Very  well,"  she  concluded,  "I'll  go  to  her  and 
have  it  out.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid,  and,  besides, 
Uncle  Theodore's  business  is  too  important  to  delay 
any  longer.  She  doesn't  know,  but  she  must 
know." 

So  upon  a  fine  afternoon  Marcia  Lowe  set  forth. 
Grim  determination  made  her  face  stern,  and  she 
looked  older  than  she  really  was.  When  she  passed 
the  Morleys'  cabin  she  smiled  up  at  Mary,  who  was 
standing  near  by,  but  the  amiable  mistress  ran  in  and 
slammed  the  door  upon  the  passerby.  A  little 
farther  on  she  came  to  Andrew  Townley's  home  and 
she  paused  there  to  speak  to  the  old  man  sunning 
himself  by  the  doorway. 

"You  certainly  do  favour  your  uncle,  Miss 
Marching,"  Andrew  mumbled;  he  had  heard  the 
stranger's  claim  of  relationship  and  trustingly  ac 
cepted  it;  but  her  name  was  too  much  for  him. 

"Since  you  come  I  git  to  thinking  more  and  more 
of  Parson  Starr.  He  was  the  pleasantest  thing  that 
ever  happened  to  us-all." 

"Oh!  thank  you,  Mr.  Townley!" 

So  lonely  and  homesick  was  the  little  doctor  that 
any  word  of  friendliness  and  good-will  drew  the 
tears  to  her  eyes.  They  talked  a  little  more  of 


36  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Theodore  Starr  and  then  the  walk  to  Stoneledge 
was  continued. 

Marcia  Lowe  had  never  seen  any  of  the  family 
except  from  a  distance,  and  she  dreaded,  more  than 
she  cared  to  own,  the  meeting  now.  Still  she  had 
come  to  set  right,  as  far  as  in  her  lay,  a  bitter  wrong 
and  injustice,  and  she  was  not  one  to  spare  her 
self. 

Her  advance  had  been  watched  ever  since  she  left 
Andrew  Townley's  cabin,  but  in  reply  to  her  timid 
knock  on  the  front  door,  Lily  Ivy  responded  with 
such  an  air  of  polite  surprise  that  no  one  could  have 
suspected  her  of  deceit. 

"Certainly,  ma'am,  Miss  Ann  is  to  home.  She 
am  receiving  in  the  libr'y.  Rest  your  umbril'  on  the 
table,  ma'am,  and  take  a  char.  I'll  go  and  'nounce 
you  to  Miss  Ann." 

Left  alone,  Marcia  did  not  know  whether  she 
wanted  to  laugh  or  cry.  The  brave  attempt  at 
grand  manner  in  the  half-ruined  house  was  pitiful 
as  well  as  amusing. 

"This  way,  ma'am.  My  mistress  done  say  she'll 
receive  you  in  the  libr'y." 

And  there,  in  solemn  state,  sat  the  mistress  of  the 
Great  House.  She,  too,  had  had  time  to  prepare 
for  the  meeting,  and  she  was  sitting  gauntly  by  the 
west  window  awaiting  her  guest. 

"It  was  right  kind  of  you  to  overlook  my  neglect," 
Miss  Walden  began,  pointing  to  a  low  chair  near  her  > 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  37 

own.  "but  I  never  leave  home  and  I  am  an  old 


woman.'5 


The  soft  drawl  did  not  utterly  hide  the  tone  of 
reflection  on  the  caller's  audacity  in  presuming  to 
enter  a  home  where  she  was  not  wanted. 

The  window  was  almost  covered  by  a  honeysuckle 
vine  and  a  tall  yellow  rose  bush;  the  afternoon 
breeze  came  into  the  room  heavy  with  the  rare, 
spicy  fragrance,  and  after  a  moment's  resentment 
at  the  measured  welcome,  Marcia  said  cheerfully: 

"You  see  —  I  had  to  come,  Miss  Walden.  I've 
only  waited  until  I  could  become  less  a  shock  to 
you.  You  believe  I  am  Theodore  Starr's  niece,  do 
you  not?  I  know  there  are  all  sorts  of  silly  ideas 
floating  around  concerning  me,  but  I  need  not  prove 
my  identity  to  you,  need  I?" 

The  winning  charm  of  the  plain  little  visitor  only 
served  to  brace  Miss  Walden  to  greater  sternness. 

"I  have  no  doubt  about  you.  You  are  very  like 
your  uncle,  Theodore  Starr." 

"Then  let  me  tell  you  what  I  must,  quickly.  It 
is  very  hard  for  me  to  say;  the  hardest  thing  I  ever 
had  to  do  —  but  I  must  do  it!" 

Ann  Walden  sank  back  in  her  stiff  armchair. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  and  her  eyes  fastened  them 
selves  on  the  visitor.  She  wanted  to  look  away, 
but  she  could  not.  She  was  more  alive  and  alert 
than  she  had  been  in  many  a  year  —  but  the  re 
awakening  was  painful. 


38  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"1  only  knew  —  the  truth  after  mother  died.  I 
found  a  letter  among  her  things.  Why  she  acted  as 
she  did  I  can  never  know,  for  she  was  a  good  woman, 
Miss  Walden,  and  a  just  one  in  everything  else. 
You  may  not  understand;  we  New  Englanders  are 
said  to  love  money,  but  we  must  have  it  clean.  I 
am  sure  mother  meant  nothing  dishonest  —  we 
had  our  own  little  income  from  my  father  and  —  the 
other  was  not  used  to  any  extent  —  I  have  made  it 
all  up." 

"I  —  do  not  understand  you!" 

This  was  partly  true,  but  the  suffering  woman 
knew  enough  to  guide  her  and  put  her  on  the  defence. 

"There  was  a  will  made  before  my  uncle  came 
here  —  in  that  he  left  everything  to  mother  and  me 
in  case  of  his  death,  but  the  letter  changed  all  that 
—  he  wanted  you  to  have  the  money  I" 

"Your  mother  was  quite  right!"  the  sternness 
was  over-powering  now;  "the  will  was  the  only  thing 
to  carry  out.  I  could  not  possibly  accept  any 
money  from  Theodore  Starr  nor  his  people." 

For  a  moment  Marcia  Lowe  felt  the  shrinking  a 
less  confident  person  feels  in  the  presence  of  one  in 
full  command  of  the  situation.  She  paused  and 
trembled,  but  in  a  moment  her  sense  of  right  and 
determination  came  to  her  aid.  Her  eyes  flashed, 
and  with  some  spirit  she  said : 

"You  are  only  speaking  for  yourself  now." 

"For  whom  else  is  there  to  speak?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  39 

"The  child!" 

Had  Marcia  dealt  Ann  Walden  a  physical  blow 
the  result  could  not  have  been  different.  Horrified 
and  appalled,  the  older  woman  gasped: 

"What  child?" 

"My  uncle's  and  your  sister's!  Miss  Walden,  you 
could  not  expect  me  to  believe  the  story  that  the 
people  tell  around  here.  You  perhaps  think  your 
sister  was  not  married  to  my  uncle  —  but  I  trust 
him.  I  think  you  and  I,  no  matter  what  has  passed, 
owe  it  to  this  little  girl  to  do  the  best  we  can  for  her. 
I  have  left  my  home  to  help;  I  have  no  one  besides 
her  in  the  world  —  please  consider  this  and  be  for 
giving  and  generous.  Oh!  what  is  the  matter?" 

For  Ann  Walden  had  risen  and  stood  facing  Marcia 
with  such  trembling  anger  that  the  younger  woman 
quailed. 

"I  wish  you  to  leave  my  house!" — the  words  came 
through  clenched  teeth  —  "leave  it  and  never  re 
turn." 

"If  you  resist  me  in  this  way,"  anger  met  anger 
now,  "I  will  have  to  consult  a  lawyer.  I  mean  to 
carry  out  my  uncle's  desires;  I  will  not  be  party  to 
any  fraud  where  his  child  is  concerned.  I  hoped 
that  you  and  I  might  do  this  together  for  her  —  but 
if  I  have  to  do  it  alone  I  am  prepared  to  do  so.  I 
have  brought  the  letter  I  found  among  my  mother's 
things  —  may  I  read  it  to  you?" 

"No!"     Ann  Walden  stared  blankly  at  the  firm 


40  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

face  almost  on  a  level  with  her  own,  for  Marcia 
Lowe  had  risen  also. 

"You  —  you  cannot  forgive  us  for  the  long  si 
lence  ?  But  at  least  do  me  this  justice :  I  came  when 
I  could  —  as  soon  as  possible.  I  was  ill  —  oh! 
Miss  Walden  can  you  not  understand  how  hard  this 
is  for  me  to  do?  Think  how  I  must  put  my  own 
mother  at  your  mercy  —  my  own,  dear  mother!" 

Only  one  thought  held  Ann  Walden  —  would  her 
visitor  never  go?  The  few  moments  were  like 
agonized  hours;  the  shock  she  had  received  had  been 
so  fearful  that  for  a  moment  she  was  stunned,  and 
before  the  true  significance  overwhelmed  her  she 
must  be  alone! 

"I  —  have  nothing  to  forgive.  You  and  yours, 
Miss  Lowe,  have  nothing  to  do  with  me  and  mine  — 
you  must  indeed  —  go!  I  cannot  talk  of  —  the 
past  to  you.  You  —  have  made  a  great  mistake  — 
a  fearful  mistake.  My  sister  has  —  has  noth- 
ing " 

The  stern  young  eyes  compelled  silence. 

"I  —  I  wish  you  would  let  me  help  you  —  for  the 
love  you  once  had  for  Uncle  Theodore,"  said  Marcia 
Lowe;  "you  must  have  forgiven  your  sister  when 
she  told  you;  can  you  not  forgive  him?" 

"Stop!  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking 

about "  Vainly,  almost  roughly,  the  older 

woman  strove  to  push  the  knife  away  that  the 
ruthless,  misunderstanding  young  hands  were  plung- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  41 

ing  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  suddenly  opened 
wound. 

"Oh!  yes,  Miss  Walden,  I  know  —  here's  the 
letter!"  ' 

She  held  it  out  frankly  as  if  it  must,  at  least,  be 
the  tie  to  bind  them. 

"I  spoke  perhaps  too  quickly,  too  unexpectedly; 
but  it  is  as  hard  for  me  as  it  is  for  you.  I  thought 
you  would  know  that.  I  could  not  talk  of  little 
things  when  this  big  thing  lay  between  us.  It  is 
our  —  duty/' 

Pleadingly,  pitifully,  the  words  were  spoken,  but 
they  did  not  move  the  listener.  Hurriedly,  as  if 
all  but  spent,  Ann  Walden  panted: 

"I  reckon  it  is  because  you  are  young  you  cannot 
understand  how  impossible  it  is  for  you  and  me  to 

—  be   friends.     You   must   forgive   me  —  and   you 
must  go!" 

"But  the  money!" 

"What  money?"     Something  bitterer  and  crueller 

than  the  money  had  taken  the  memory  of  that  away. 

"  Uncle  Theodore's  money.     You  see  it  is  not  mine 

—  neither  you  nor  I   should   keep  it  from   Uncle 
Theodore's " 

"Oh!  go,  go;  I  cannot  talk  to  you  now.  I  will  see 
you  again  —  some  other  day  —  go!" 

At  last  the  look  in  Ann  Walden's  face  attracted 
and  held  Marcia  Lowe's  mercy.  She  forgot  her 
own  trouble  and  mission;  her  impetuosity  died 


42  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

before  the  dumb  misery  of  the  woman  near  her. 
Realizing  that  she  could  gain  nothing  more  at  present 
by  staying,  she  placed  the  letter  upon  the  table 
as  she  passed  out  of  the  room  and  the  house. 

For  a  few  moments  Ann  Walden  stood  and  looked 
at  the  vacant  spot  whence  the  blow  had  come.  The 
restraint  she  had  put  upon  herself  in  Marcia  Lowe's 
presence  faded  gradually;  but  presently  a  sensation 
of  faintness  warned  the  awakening  senses  of  self- 
preservation.  Slowly  she  reached  for  the  letter 
which  lay  near  —  no  one  must  ever  see  that!  She 
would  not  read  it,  but  it  must  be  destroyed.  And 
even  as  she  argued,  Ann  Walden's  hot,  keen  eyes 
were  scanning  the  pages  that  unconsciously  she  had 
taken  from  the  envelope. 

The  date  recalled  to  her  the  time  and  place  — 
it  had  been  written  that  summer  when  Theo 
dore  Starr  had  gone  to  the  plague-stricken  people 
back  in  the  hills;  after  he  had  told  her  they,  he 
and  she,  could  never  marry;  that  it  had  all  been  a 
mistake.  How  deadly  kind  he  had  been;  how 
grieved  and  —  honest!  Yes,  that  was  it;  he  had 
seemed  so  honest  that  the  woman  who  listened  and 
from  whose  life  he  was  taking  the  only  beautiful 
thing  that  had  ever  been  purely  her  own,  struggled 
to  hide  her  suffering,  and  even  in  that  humiliating 
hour  had  sought  to  help  him.  But  —  if  what  had 
been  said  were  true,  Theodore  Starr  had  not  been 
honest  with  her;  even  that  comfort  was  to  be  dashed 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  43 

from  her  after  all  these  years.  She  remembered 
that  he  had  said  that  while  he  lived  he  would  always 
honour  her,  but  that  love  had  overcome  him  and 
conquered  him.  Queenie  had  always  seemed  a  child 
to  him,  he  had  told  her,  until  the  coming  of  Hertford, 
and  the  sudden  unfolding  of  the  child  into  the  woman. 
He  could  no  longer  conceal  the  truth  —  in  his  con 
cealment  danger  lay  for  them  all,  and  his  life's  work 
as  well.  When  he  came  back  —  they  would  all 
understand  each  other  better!  But  he  had  not 
come  back  and  then,  when  she  had  discovered  poor 
Queenie's  state,  it  was  for  Starr  as  well  as  herself 
that  she  sternly  followed  the  course  she  had.  She 
struck  a  blow  for  him  who  no  longer  could  speak  for 
himself  —  for  he  had  died  among  his  people. 

"I  loved  him  better  than  life,"  those  were  the 
words  Ann  Walden  had  spoken  to  her  sister  in  that 
very  room  twelve  years  ago.  The  air  seemed  ring 
ing  with  them  still;  "loved  him  as  you  never  could 
have;  but  he  loved  you;  he  told  me  so,  and  because  of 
my  love  for  him  — •  I  hid  what  I  felt.  I  could  have 
died  to  make  him  happy,  but  you  —  why,  you  were 
another  man's  idle  fancy  while  you  lured  Theodore 
Starr  to  his  doom.  The  only  thing  you  have  left 
me  for  comfort  and  solace  is  this:  I  can  now  keep 
his  dear,  pure  memory  for  my  own,  and  love  it  to  the 
day  of  my  death." 

Ann  Walden  looked  quickly  toward  the  chimney- 
place.  There  Queenie  had  stood  shrinking  before 


44  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

her  like  a  little  guilty  ghost.  She  seemed  to  be 
standing  there  still  listening  to  the  truth,  and  aveng 
ing  herself  at  last. 

"Hertford  is  the  father  of  your  unborn  child. 
You " 

And  then  it  was  that  Queenie  had  fallen!  had  hit 
her  head  against  the  andirons  and  was  never  again 
to  suffer  sanely.  After  that  there  were  the  dreary 
weeks  when  the  changed  girl  had  paced  the  upper 
balcony  with  her  poor,  vacant  face  set  toward  the 
hills.  The  pitiful  story  of  her  weak  lungs  was 
started,  the  journey  to  the  far  away  sanatorium, 
which  really  ended  in  the  cabin  of  a  one-time  slave 
of  the  family  twenty  miles  away!  The  hideous 
secret;  the  journeys  by  night  and  that  last  terrible 
scene  when  the  blank  mind  refused  to  interpret  the 
agony  of  the  riven  body  and  the  wild  screams  and 
moans  rang  through  the  cabin  chamber.  Alone, 
the  old  black  woman  and  Ann  Walden  had  witnessed 
the  struggle  of  life  and  death,  which  ended  in  the 
birth  of  Cynthia  and  the  release  of  Queenie  Walden. 

The  four  following  years  were  nightmares  of  tor 
ture  to  Ann  Walden.  After  bringing  her  sister's 
body  home  from  the  supposed  sanatorium  she  lived 
a  double  life.  As  often  as  she  dared  she  went  to  that 
cabin  in  the  far  woods.  She  carried  clothes  and  food 
to  her  old  servant  and  the  little  secreted  child.  She 
watched  with  fear-filled  eyes  the  baby's  develop 
ment,  and  to  her  great  relief  she  knew  at  last  that 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  45 

no  mark  of  mental  evil  had  touched  her!  Then, 
when  the  old  black  woman  died  she  brought  the 
baby  thing  home;  had  explained  it  according  to  her 
knowledge  of  the  people;  they  would  believe  what  she 
told  them  —  but  this  stranger  who  had  left  the 
letter  —  she  had  not  been  deceived  for  one  moment! 
The  letter!  While  she  had  been  reliving  the  past 
the  words  were  entering  her  consciousness.  What 
she  knew  she  passed  unheedingly;  what  she  was  yet 
to  know  rose  as  if  to  strike  her  by  its  force. 

I  had  believed  that  love,"  so  Starr  had  written 
to  his  sister,  "as  men  know  it,  was  not  for  me;  my 
work,  my  joy  in  the  service  had  always  seemed  my 
recompense.  I  had  asked  Ann  Walden  to  marry  me 
because  I  felt  sure  of  myself,  and  in  this  lonely  place 
I  needed  the  companionship,  the  wisdom  and  the 
social  position  her  presence  would  give  to  this  great 
work  of  lifting  up  those  worthy  of  recognition.  Then 
came  the  day  when  I  saw  the  little  sister  —  Ann 
Walden's  and  mine,  for  we  had  always  called  her 
that  —  a  woman!  She  cast  her  childhood  off  like  a 
disguise  —  I  saw  another  man  look  at  her  and  I  saw 
her  look  at  him!  Something  was  born  in  me  then 
after  all  the  slow,  sombre  years  —  and  I  wanted  — 
love!  I  think  a  madness  overcame  me,  for,  blinded 
and  almost  beside  myself--!  spoke  to  her  —  that 
child-woman,  and  told  her  how  it  was  with  me.  She 
is  the  sort  that  wins  your  heart  secrets  by  a  glance 
of  her  tender  eyes.  And  then Then  came 


46  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

sharp  words;  disconnected  and  flashing  like  flame; 
but  Ann  Walden  read  on  while  her  brain  beat  and 
ached. 

"It  was  I  she  loved.  I  had  aroused  her  —  she 
saw  only  one  man  in  the  world  —  me! 

"She  lay  in  my  arms  —  I  kissed  her. 

"I  took  her  with  me  on  a  long  drive  through  the 
mountains  —  there  was  a  dying  woman  and  my  dear 
love  carried  the  poor  soul  unto  the  parting  of  the 
ways  with  such  divine  tenderness  as  I  had  never 
before  beheld.  She  sang  and  almost  played  with  ner 
until  the  sad  creature  forgot  her  death  pangs.  It  was 
the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw — that  dying  hour 
was  perhaps  the  only  joyous  hour  the  woman  ever  had 
known — and  my  sun-touched  darling  gave  it  to  her! 

"We  were  married  on  our  way  home.  I  wanted  to 
speak  at  once,  but  Queenie  pleaded.  She  did  not 
wish,  just  in  her  own  first  moment  of  joy,  to  hurt 
the  sister  who  was  mother  to  her  as  well  as  sister.  I 
listened,  but  I  realized  that  my  child-wife  was 
afraid!  That  was  it.  With  all  her  brave,  splendid 
characteristics,  Ann  Walden  is  one  to  call  forth  fear. 
I  felt  myself  shrinking  hourly  from  confession.  She 
is  all  judge;  she  can  be  just,  but  she  cannot,  I  think, 
be  merciful.  Hers  it  is  to  carry  out  the  law,  not 
sympathize  with  those  who  fall  under  the  law.  She 
makes  cowards  of  us  all!  She  is  too  detached  to 
reach  humanity,  or  for  humanity,  erring,  sinning 
humanity,  to  reach  her. 


47 

"The  call  came  —  I  had  to  come  to  the  sick  and 
dying.  I  made  half  peace  with  myself  by  telling 
Ann  Walden  that  I  could  not  carry  out  our  compact. 
I  told  her,  what  is  the  hardest  thing  for  any  man  to 
tell  a  woman  —  that  I  did  not  love  her.  I  could  not 
love  her!  and  that  it  was  her  sister  I  loved.  I  meant 
to  explain  everything  later  and  confess  —  I  ex 
pected  to  be  back  in  a  day  or  so  —  but  I  am  here 
still  and  the  chances  are  I  must  stay  on  for  a  long 
time,  and  I  may  lose  my  life;  conditions  are  terrible, 
and  only  once  a  week  a  doctor  comes ! 

"  She,  Ann  Walden,  is  not  the  hard  judge  alone.  I 
must  not  give  you  a  wrong  impression.  When  I  told 
her,  she  shielded  me  against  myself;  would  not  let  me 
suffer  as  I  should  —  she  excused  me.  She,  to  excuse 
me!  But  if  anything  happens  to  me  —  I  want  all 
my  money  to  go  to  Ann  Walden.  By  this  act  she 
will  understand  my  trust  in  her  and,  accepting  it,  she 
will  do  for  Queenie  what  otherwise  she  could  not  do 
—  and  do  it  more  wisely  than  my  darling  could  for 
herself.  It  must  be  the  common  tie,  this  little  for 
tune. 

"I  am  feeling  very  ill. 

"I  fear  —  my  time  —  has  come! 

"I  recall  —  there  was  no  marriage  certificate,  but 
the  service  was  performed  by " 

Ann  Walden  dropped  the  blurred  sheet  and  stead 
ied  herself  against  the  window.  Evidently  Theo 
dore  Starr  had  forgotten  the  name,  or  perhaps  the 


1  48  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

deadly  dizziness  of  the  disease  had  overcome  him. 
It  did  not  matter.  Ann  Walden,  like  Marcia  Lowe, 
had  no  doubts  —  but  his  sister  evidently  had  had, 
and  suddenly  a  bitter  hatred  filled  Ann  Walden's 
soul  toward  the  dead  woman  she  had  never  known. 

"She  who  should  have  known  him  best,"  Ann 
Walden's  thoughts  ran  burningly  on  —  "she  to 
doubt  him  and  let  all  the  years  of  injustice  go  on!" 

And  then  the  eyes  of  the  tormented  woman  turned 
fearfully  toward  the  far  side  of  the  room.  The  late 
afternoon  was  turning  into  twilight  and  the  corner 
by  the  chimney  was  dim  and  full  of  shadow. 

"And  I  —  who  should  have  trusted  Queenie — I 
who  knew  her  best  of  all  —  I  let  her  suffer " 

The  wraith  by  the  hearth  had  her  full  revenge  at 
that  hour,  for  Ann  Walden  bowed  beneath  the  mem 
ories  that  crowded  upon  her;  the  vivid,  torturing 
memories.  That  last  night  —  when  the  moans  and 
calls  of  the  dumb  mind  strove  to  express  the  agony 
of  the  poor  body!  The  solemn  hour  when  God  en 
trusted  a  living  soul  to  a  mother  incapable  of  realiz 
ing  anything  but  the  mortal  pangs  that  were  costing 
her  her  life! 

The  child  dishonoured,  shamed  and  hidden  be 
cause  of  —  misunderstanding.  Humbly  Ann  Wal 
den  confessed  that  Theodore  Starr's  sister  was  no 
more  to  blame  than  she  herself. 

Outside  a  sudden  shower  had  come  over  Lost 
Mountain;  the  room  in  which  Ann  Walden  stood 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  49 

became  dark  and  still,  then  a  sharp  crash  shook  the 
house  —  something  white  fell  upon  the  hearth; 
ashes,  long  dead  ashes  were  blown  hither  and  yon  by 
a  rising  wind.  With  a  wild  cry  of  —  "My  God!" 
Ann  Walden  sank  in  a  chair.  Wornout  nerves  could 
stand  no  more. 

When  she  recovered  consciousness  she  was  lying 
upon  the  old  horsehair  sofa  in  the  library.  Ivy  had 
gone  on  an  errand,  but  Cynthia  stood  over  her  and 
the  girl's  face  shocked  the  reviving  woman  into 
alertness.  Familiarity  had  dulled  her  in  the  past, 
but  now  she  saw  the  expression  and  outline  of 
Theodore  Starr's  features  bending  near  her. 

"Oh!"  she  moaned  shudderingly.  "Oh!  oh!" 

"Aunt  Ann,  it  is  little  Cyn!  The  tree  by  the 
smoke-house  was  struck,  but  we-all  are  safe." 

"I  must  be  alone!"  Then  gropingly  and  trem 
blingly  Ann  Walden  got  upon  her  feet. 

"The  letter,"  she  panted,  "the  letter." 

1  'Here  it  is  —  I  found  it  on  the  floor  where  you 
fell." 

At  the  time  Cynthia  was  too  distressed  to  attach 
any  importance  to  the  matter,  but  she  recalled  the 
incident  later. 

"Yes,  yes!"  Ann  Walden  gripped  the  closely 
written  sheets;  "and  now  I  —  I  want  to  be  alone!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

SANDY  MORLEY  came  out  of  his  shed  and 
turned  his  bruised  and  aching  face  to  Lost 
Mountain.  It  was  very  early,  and  the  first 
touch  of  a  red  morn  was  turning  the  mists  on  the 
highest  peak  to  flaming  films  of  feathery  lightness. 

There  had  been  a  desperate  quarrel  in  the  Morley 
cabin  the  night  before,  and  Sandy,  defending  his 
father  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  against  the  assault 
of  Mary,  had  reaped  the  results  of  the  woman's 
outraged  surprise  and  resentment. 

"You!"  she  had  shrieked,  rushing  at  him;  "you, 

taking  on  the  man-trick,  are  you?  Then "  and 

the  heavy  blow  dealt  him  carried  Sandy  to  the 
floor  by  its  force.  Later  he  crept  to  his  shelter  and 
suffered  the  growing  pangs  of  maturity.  The  words 
of  Mary  had  roused  him  more  than  the  hurt  she  had 
inflicted.  No  longer  could  he  submit  —  why?  All 
the  years  he  had  borne  the  shame  and  degradation, 
but  of  a  sudden  something  rose  up  within  him  that 
rebelled  and  defied.  He  no  longer  hated  as  he  had 
in  his  first  impotent  childish  heat;  he  seemed  now  to 
be  a  new  and  changed  creature  looking  on  with  sur 
prise  and  abhorrence  at  the  suffering  of  some  one 
over  whom  he  had  charge  and  for  whom  he  was  re- 

50 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  51 

sponsible.  The  some  one  was  Sandy  Morley,  but 
who  was  this  strange  and  suddenly  evolved  guardian 
who  rose  supreme  over  conditions  and  demanded 
justice  for  the  hurt  boy  lying  on  the  straw  mattress 
in  the  wretched  outhouse? 

All  night,  sleeping  only  at  intervals,  Sandy  Morley 
strove  to  understand.  Morning  found  him  still 
confused  and  tormented.  He  went  outside  and  with 
aching  eyes  looked  upon  the  cloud.  Presently,  as  if 
ordered  by  a  supreme  artist,  the  rosy  films  parted 
majestically  and  Lost  Mountain,  stern  and  grim, 
stood  clearly  defined!  Just  then  a  bird-note  broke 
the  mystic  stillness;  it  filled  The  Hollow  with  tri 
umphant  joy  —  it  became  part  of  the  tumult  of 
Sandy's  soul  compelling  the  discord  to  lose  itself 
in  harmony. 

"I  must  go  away!"  Sandy  murmured  as  if  in 
prayer.  "I  must  go  away!"  The  new  man  into 
which  he  was  merging  felt  its  way  cautiously  through 
the  brightening  prospect.  "I  must  go  away,  now." 

That  was  it.  The  years  of  preparation  were  past. 
Little  or  much,  he  must  take  his  savings  and  go  forth! 
For  a  moment  a  soul  loneliness  possessed  him. 

"Where?"  he  faltered  in  that  rosy  quiet  that  was 
moved  and  stirred  by  the  bird-song.  "Where?" 
There  was  only  one  place  on  earth  to  him  beyond 
his  mountain  home  —  he  must  go  to  that  ttate  which 
recognized  so  generously  the  yearning  for  knowledge 
—  he  must  go  to  Massachusetts!  But  now  that  the 


52  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

hour  had  arrived  he  found  his  day-dream  ings  of  the 
past  were  as  vague  and  unreliable  as  guides  as  his 
idea  of  heaven,  that  state  of  mind  which  Marcia 
Lowe  always  insisted  was  here  and  now,  or  nowhere 
at  all! 

Well,  he  would  go  to  the  Cup-of-Cold-Water  Lady 
and  get  a  more  concise  conception  of  heaven  and 
Massachusetts,  if  possible. 

Sandy  turned  his  bruised  face  to  earth  as  he 
reached  this  decision;  like  a  condemned  man  on  his 
last  earthly  day,  he  set  about  the  doing  of  the  unim 
portant  but  necessary  duties  that  lay  between  the 
dawn  and  the  night.  With  no  joy  did  Sandy  Morley 
anticipate  his  great  change.  He  only  realized  the 
"call,"  and  in  a  subtle,  compelling  way  he  felt  him 
self  driven  by  forces,  quite  beyond  his  control,  to  bear 
himself  bravely. 

He  filled  the  rusty  pail  with  water  from  the  spring 
down  by  the  Branch;  he  brought  wood  and  lighted 
a  fire  on  the  ashy  hearth  before  which,  the  night 
before,  the  quarrel  had  waged.  Having  finished  the 
homely  tasks  he  gathered  some  scraps  of  ash  cakes 
and  bacon  together  and  made  for  himself  a  breakfast, 
which  he  washed  down  with  some  thin,  sour  butter 
milk.  After  this  he  went  to  his  shed  and  arrayed 
himself  in  a  suit  of  clothes,  old  but  decent,  that  some 
one  at  The  Forge  had  charitably  given  him;  then, 
packing  a  basket  with  some  luscious  late  peas  and 
berries  that  he  had  been  fostering  for  weeks  in  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  53 

tiny  garden  patch  back  of  the  cabin,  he  started  out 
on  his  last  day's  journey  on  the  hills  for  many  and 
many  a  year.  He  had  thought  it  out  clearly  while 
he  was  performing  his  tasks.  He  would  bargain  and 
sell;  he  would  draw  Miss  Lowe  out  as  to  particulars 
of  direction,  cost  and  details;  he  would  bid  her  good 
bye  —  she  a  stranger  who  had  been  so  kind  to  him! 
He  would  miss  her  teaching  and  guidance;  miss  her 
strange  inspiration  of  joyousness  and  courage. 
After  leaving  Trouble  Neck  he  must  see  Cynthia 
Walden  and  tell  her  that  the  great  hour  had  come! 
Then  there  was  to  be  the  final  scene.  He  was  going 
to  ask  his  father  to  go  away  with  him!  The  quarrel 
of  the  night  before  had  decided  him.  Together 
he  and  his  father  might  make  a  place  for  themselves 
beyond  the  touch  of  Mary  and  the  sound  of  her 
terrible  voice.  Tenderly  and  with  a  beating  heart 
Sandy  recalled  the  old,  old  days  —  the  days  when 
Martin  sang,  and  prayed  his  wonderful  prayers  to  a 
little  happy  child.  Yes,  they  would  go  away  to 
gether  and  then  nothing  would  be  quite  so  hard  or 
impossible. 

Thus  arranged,  Sandy  began  his  day.  He  sold 
his  basketful  at  the  first  house  —  a  place  five  miles 
away  where  some  strange  artist-folks  were  boarding. 
Sandy  got  a  great  deal  of  money  there,  for  not  only 
did  the  mistress  of  the  house  pay  him  well,  but  a 
man  and  woman  gave  him  a  dollar  for  posing  for 
them  while  they  sketched  him.  Reaching  Trouble 


54  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Neck,  Sandy  met  his  first  setback.  Miss  Lowe  was 
away;  the  little  cabin  was  closed  and  on  the  door 
was  pinned  a  scrap  of  paper  which  confided  to  any 
chance  visitor  that  the  owner  would  be  gone  for 
several  days.  Marcia  Lowe  had  set  out  for  that  far 
place  ''among  the  hills  where  her  uncle's  body  had 
been  laid  years  before.  She  had  gone  to  make  it 
beautiful,  when  she  located  it,  and  the  task  was 
to  take  longer  than  she  knew. 

Sandy  sat  down  upon  the  doorstep  dejected  and 
disappointed.  He  had  depended  more  than  he  knew 
upon  what  he  felt  sure  the  little  doctor  could  give 
him,  and  yet,  not  for  a  moment,  did  he  contemplate 
waiting  for  her  return  —  his  order  had  been  given. 
As  his  great-grandfather  had  taken  up  arms  un- 
questioningly  long  ago,  so  Sandy  now  responded  to 
this  later  command.  He  must  go  that  night! 

After  resting  for  a  few  moments  and  struggling 
against  the  dreariness  that  was  spreading  through 
his  thought  he  roused  and  set  forth  for  the  Walden 
place.  Having  no  legitimate  business  at  the  back 
door  of  Stoneledge,  the  boy  had  no  intention  of 
braving  old  Ivy's  sombre  stare  or  the  chance  meeting 
with  the  mistress  of  the  Great  House,  but  there  were 
other  ways  of  communicating  with  Cynthia  besides 
the  back  door  and  the  vicarious  personalities  of  those 
who  ruled  over  her.  Youth  has  its  own  methods  of 
telegraphy,  and  the  hills  people  are  master  hands 
at  secrecy.  There  was  a  certain  bird-note  for  which 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  55 

Sandy  was  famous:  a  low  but  shrill  pipe  that  had 
startled  old  Ivy  more  than  once  and  was  nearly  al 
ways  successful  in  causing  Cynthia  to  materialize  in 
due  time.  So  Sandy,  from  the  shelter  of  trees  back 
of  the  Stoneledge  smoke-house,  gave  his  peculiar 
and  penetrating  call.  A  second  time  he  gave  it  and 
then  Ivy  issued  forth  and,  cocking  her  weird  old  head 
on  one  side,  listened.  A  long  silence  followed.  The 
hot  afternoon  palpitated  and  throbbed  in  The 
Hollow,  but  the  hidden  bird  did  not  break  it  by 
another  call.  At  last  it  became  evident  that  Cyn 
thia  was  beyond  the  reach  of  her  slave's  desires, 
and  so  poor  Sandy  gathered  together  his  flagging 
strength  and  spirits  and  turned  toward  home  with 
the  forlorn  hope  that  he  might  meet  Cynthia  on  the 
way  there.  Now  that  the  parting  time  had  come 
he  knew  that  the  girl  was  his  only  real  friend  on 
earth  in  the  sense  that  youth  knows  a  friend. 
They  were  near  each  other,  though  so  far  apart. 
They  spoke  a  common  tongue  and  there  were 
hours  when  the  girl  of  the  Great  House  and 
Sandy  of  the  cabin  reached  across  the  gulf  of  tradi 
tion  and  class  distinction  and  opened  their  souls  to 
each  other.  During  such  moments  Cynthia  had 
awakened  and  called  forth  Sandy's  dormant  imagi 
nation.  Through  Cynthia  he  had  been  shown  the 
beauty  of  the  flowers;  been  taught  the  note  of  the 
birds  and  the  thrill  of  life  under  winter's  cold  and 
hard  wing.  Poverty  sharpened  the  senses  of  The 


56  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Hollow  people  alike  in  hovel  and  great  house;  it 
drove  Miss  Ann  and  Cynthia  into  close  quarters 
with  Ivy  and  her  weird  superstitions;  it  drove  Sandy 
and  his  kind  into  dangerous  contact  with  each  other, 
for  behind  closed  doors  and  in  the  semi-darkness  of 
the  one-windowed  cabins  evil  traits  grew  apace  and 
the  cold  and  the  poor  food  were  fuel  for  passion  and 
hate. 

But  no  little  enchantress  met  lonely  Sandy  on  his 
homeward  way. 

"I  reckon  I  must  —  go  without!"  he  muttered 
with  something  much  like  a  sob  in  his  voice.  Not 
even  then  did  he  dream  of  procrastinating.  He  was 
hungry  and  weary  and  when  he  reached  the  cabin 
he  paused  to  eat  again  before  going  to  the  rock  with 
his  day's  earnings.  Mary,  Molly,  and  Martin  were 
absent,  but  that  was  no  new  thing.  Sandy  meant 
to  hide  his  money,  come  back  and  speak  to  his  father 
and  then,  by  the  dark  of  the  moon,  start  out  either 
with  Martin  or  alone.  Grimly  the  young,  tired  face 
set  into  stern  lines;  a  paleness  dimmed  his  freckles 
and  a  fever  brightened  his  eyes,  but  the  heat  in  his 
blood,  now  at  the  day's  end,  acted  like  a  stimulant 
to  his  thoughts.  No  longer  did  he  fear  or  doubt  — 
he  had  passed  that  stage  and,  like  a  warrior  rein 
forced  and  exhilarated,  he  began  to  whistle  confi 
dently  and  almost  joyously.  He  meant  to  give  Mary 
her  share  of  his  profits,  but  he  would  leave  them  in  the 
box  beside  the  stone  that  so  long  had  hid  his  secret. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  57 

Over  the  Branch  and  up  the  hill  to  the  woods  went 
Sandy  with  an  uplifted  expression  on  his  poor, 
bruised  face  and  the  dignity  of  his  clothing  adding  a 
strange  touch  of  age  to  him.  Near  the  sacred  spot  he 
paused  and  the  tune  died  on  his  lips.  Some  one  or 
some  thing  was  stirring  just  beyond,  and,  of  a  sudden, 
fear  and  past  doubt  drove  the  blood  from  his  heart. 
His  only  thought  was  of  Molly !  All  the  years,  per 
haps,  she  had  deceived  and  betrayed  him.  He  had, 
like  a  coward,  failed  to  count  his  money;  to  guard 
it  as  he  should! 

Creeping  forward  on  hands  and  knees  he  made  his 
way  silently  through  the  bushes.  He  knew  the  trick 
of  the  beasts;  knew  how  to  pad  the  underbrush  be 
neath  his  hands  before  he  trusted  the  weight  of  his 
body  to  it.  When  within  a  few  feet  of  the  spot 
whence  the  sound  of  moving  came,  Sandy  started  up 
and  dashed  with  one  bound  into  the  open.  His 
hands  were  spread  wide  with  eagerness  to  grip  that 
which  had  betrayed  him,  and  so  he  came  upon  — 
Cynthia  Walden!  He  fell  back  panting,  when  his 
brain,  at  last,  interpreted  for  him  what  he  saw.  The 
girl  sat  with  the  tin  box  of  money  in  her  lap;  the 
overturned  stone  beside  her  and  the  last  rays  of  the 
hot  sun  filtering  through  the  dogwood  trees  and  pines 
upon  her  sweet,  pale  beauty.  By  a  sharp  trick  of 
memory  Sandy  recalled  how  the  dogwood  blossoms 
one  spring  long  past  had  looked  like  stars  under  the 
dark  pines  and  now  he  thought  that  Cynthia's  face 


58  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  like  the  pale,  starry  blossoms.  He  was  always 
to  remember  her  so  when,  in  the  hard  years  on  before, 
she  was  to  come  to  him  in  fancy  and  longing.  A 
pure  girl-face,  radiant  with  hope  and  bravery, 
touched,  just  then,  with  startled  fear  which  faded 
into  laughing  triumph  as  she  recognized  Sandy. 

"You  thought  it  was  —  Molly?"  she  whispered, 
holding  her  hands  clasped  over  the  box  in  her  lap. 
"So  did  I.  Once  I  found  her  here  —  found  her 
hunting  under  one  rock  after  another.  I  gave  her  a 
lick  on  the  back  I  reckon  she  has  always  remem 
bered."  The  slow,  sweet  laugh  rippled  out  — 
"Molly  is  mighty  afraid  of  me." 

Then  Sandy  managed  to  command  his  thought 
and  motions.  He  stepped  to  Cynthia  and  knelt  be 
side  her. 

"I  am  going  away,"  he  said  softly. 

"Yes,  I  know.     When?" 

"To-night." 

"To-night?"  Fourteen  and  twelve  have  no  per 
spective  —  everything  is  final  and  vital  to  them. 
The  past  has  been  but  a  witchery  of  preparation  in  a 
fairy  tale  of  wonder  and  delight;  the  actual  experience 
of  action  found  them  both  unfitted  for  the  ordeal, 
but  in  each  boy  and  girl  is  the  potential  man  and 
woman,  and  Sandy  and  Cynthia  met  the  present 
moment  characteristically. 

"I  dreamed  two  dreams,"  said  the  girl  with  a 
shade  of  mysticism  in  her  tones.  "Once  I  saw  you 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  59 

going  down  The  Way,  Sandy,  with  the  look  on  your 
face  that  you  now  have.  I  stood  by  the  big  pine 
just  where  the  trail  ends  in  The  Way,  and  watched 
you.  Then  1  dreamed  last  night  that  I  stood  by 
the  big  pine  again  and  you  were  coming  up  The  Way 
a-waving  to  me  like  you  knew  I  would  be  there. 
There  was  a  look  on  your  face  —  a  new  look  —  but 
I  knew  it,  for  I've  seen  it  before  in  the  Significant 
Room."  Cynthia  paused,  for  the  question  in  Sandy's 
eyes  held  her. 

"You  know  my  story?"  she  said  with  her  deli 
cious  laugh  thrilling  her  listener;  "the  story  part 
of  my  life?" 

"Oh!"  It  came  to  Sandy  then,  in  this  strained, 
prosaic  moment,  the  memory  of  Cynthia's  fancy  to 
set  her  little  world  in  the  frame  of  her  "Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  the  only  book  of  fiction  free  to  her.  "Oh! 
yes,  now  I  remember." 

"Sandy,  all  these  years  I  have  tried  and  tried  to 
make  you  fit  in  —  but  you  wouldn't  until  —  until 
last  night.  When  it  was  right  dark  and  still  and 
everybody  was  sleeping,  I  went  down  into  the  old 
library  —  that's  where  Aunt  Ann  had  the  queer 
spell  the  day  Miss  Lowe  came  —  the  room  is  all 
dirty  and  full  of  ashes,  for  the  chimney  fell  that 
afternoon;  but  right  beside  the  fireplace  there  is  an 
empty  space  on  the  wall  that  I've  always  saved  for 
you!" 

Cynthia  had  forgot  the  present  in  her  fantastic 


60  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

play  and  she  held  Sandy  as  she  always  had  before 
by  the  trick  of  her  fascination. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured;  "there  is  your  mother's 
picture  and  the  old  general's  and  the  frame  that 
holds  your  father's  portrait  —  the  father  that  no 
one  knows  about  but  you  —  and  now  —  am  I  hang 
ing  in  the  Significant  Room?" 

Sandy  was  all  boy  now;  the  strange  new  dignity 
fell  wearily  from  him  —  he  was  playing,  after  a  hard 
lesson,  with  little  Cyn. 

"And  what  am  I?"  he  asked,  "what  have  you 
made  me?" 

"Oh!  I  did  not  make  you,  Sandy.  You  just 
were!  The  moonlight  was  streaming  in  through  the 
window  where  the  roses  and  honeysuckle  are  —  it 
was  a  leafy  moonlight  and  all  ripply  like  dancing 
water.  I  was  not  afraid  —  I  went  right  boldly  up  to 
• —  your  picture,  Sandy,  and  I  knew  you  at  once. 
You  know  in  the  Significant  Room  of  my  book  it 
says  there  was  a  man  in  a  cage;  the  man  and  his 
dream;  and  the  man  that  cut  his  way  through  his 
enemies  —  the  biggest  of  them  all !  But,  oh ! 
Sandy,  mighty  plain  and  fine  I  saw  you  like  you  were 
all  three  of  the  book  folks.  You  were  Sandy  of  the 
cage  —  and  the  cage  was  Lost  Hollow!  You  were 
Sandy  with  your  dream  of  helping  us-all.  Me,  the 
po'  lil'  white  trash  in  Crothers'  factory  —  everybody! 
Then  you  were  Sandy  cutting  your  way  through  your 
enemies  —  enemies  like  the  Hertfords  are  to  your 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  61 

family;  I  heard  Aunt  Ann  telling  Ivy — and  then 
right  sudden  I  saw  you  hanging  up  in  a  gold  frame 

with  the  ripply  moonlight  shining  on  you The 

Biggest  of  Them  All!" 

Sandy's  eyes  were  brilliant  and  glittering;  his 
breath  came  quick  and  hard,  and  to  steady  himself 
he  whispered: 

"I  am  going  away  —  to-night!" 

The  vision  vanished  and  Cynthia  fel  two  large 
tears  roll  down  her  cheeks.  They  left  no  sorry 
stains  upon  the  pale  smoothness  of  the  girl's  skin; 
Cynthia's  eyes  could  always  hold  a  smile  even  when 
dimmed;  her  eyes  were  gray  with  blue  tints  and  her 
straight,  thick  hair  was  the  dull  gold  that  caught  and 
held  light  and  shade.  Some  day  she  was  going  to  be 
very  handsome  in  an  original  and  peculiar  fashion, 
and  Sandy  unconsciously  caught  a  glimpse  of  it 
now,  and  it  disturbed  him. 

"  I  am  going  —  to-night.  I  wonder  if  there  is 
enough?" 

He  glanced  at  the  box.    "  I  have  never  counted  it." 

"  Never  counted  it  ?  I  have  counted  it  every  week. 
That's  because  I  am  I,  and  you  are  you,  Sandy. 
There's  over  thirty  dollars." 

At  this  Sandy  gasped. 

"I  —  reckon  it  will  take  me  to  Massachusetts,'" 
he  said. 

"I  reckon  it  will  take  you  to  the  world's  end," 
Cynthia,  the  mystic  exclaimed,  "and  back  again!" 


62  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Back  again!"  Sandy's  imagination  could  not 
stretch  past  a  certain  limit. 

"But  you  are  coming  back,  Sandy?"  A  startled 
fear  crept  into  the  girl's  eyes;  "you  promised!" 

"I  shall  come  back  —  yes!" 

"Let  us  count  the  money  together,  Sandy." 

Dishevelled  dark  head  and  smooth  bright  one 
bent  close  in  the  dimming  light.  There  was  a  far- 
distant  rumble  of  thunder,  but  neither  heeded  it; 
showers  were  almost  daily  occurrences,  and  excite 
ment  and  concentration  ran  high.  Suddenly  Sandy 
started  back  and  pointed  to  a  small  roll  of  bills  — 
three  one-dollar  bills  they  were  —  but  Sandy  had 
never  put  a  piece  of  paper  money  in  the  box! 

"That!"  he  whispered  hoarsely;  "how  did  that 
get  here?" 

Too  late  Cynthia  saw  her  mistake.  All  the  small 
savings  and  sacrifices  of  her  life  she  had  exchanged 
that  very  day  at  the  post-office  for  the  three  bills. 
Tod  Greeley  had  picked  out  the  cleanest  and  newest, 
and  now  they  had  betrayed  her. 

Sandy  was  on  his  feet  at  once,  and  a  stern  frown 
drew  his  brows  together;  the  bruise  on  his  cheek 
stung  as  the  blood  rushed  to  it,  and  then  he  waited. 

Presently  Cynthia  rose  to  her  feet  and  from  her 
slim  height  faced  Sandy  on  the  level  —  eye  to  eye ; 

"I  put  it  there!"  defiance  and  pride  touched  the 
words,  "it  means  as  much  to  me  as  it  does  to  you 
• —  the  going  away,  I  mean.  I've  thought  it  all 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  63 

out  —  you'll  have  to  pay  it  back  —  pay  it  as  I 
want  it." 

Sandy's  mind  worked  more  slowly;  gropingly  he 
strove  to  understand , 

"How  did  you  get  it?"  he  asked  relentless* 

Cynthia  laughed  a  little. 

"Just  scratches  and  pricks  —  it  was  great  fun! 
I've  been  gathering  the  wool  from  the  bushes  under 
which  the  sheep  go,  for  years  and  years;  ever  since 
you  began  to  save,  Sandy.  Lily  Ivy  sold  the  wool 
to  the  darkies  —  and  I  got  Mr.  Greeley  to  change 
the  pennies  —  for  bills.  It  is  all  mine,  every  bit!" 

A  mist  rose  to  Sandy's  eyes  —  it  almost  hid  that 
pure  flower-like  face  shining  under  the  dark  trees. 

"You  mustn't  be  mean,  Sandy;  besides,  you  are  to 
pay  it  all  back." 

"How?"  That  word  was  all  Sandy  could  master, 
for  a  sharp  pain  in  his  throat  drove  all  else  he  meant 
to  say  back. 

"Why,  you  are  going  to  set  me  free  —  you  must 
marry  me!" 

Like  a  child  playing  with  fire  Cynthia  heedlessly 
spoke  these  words.  They  had  no  deeper  significance 
to  her  than  the  lilt  of  a  world-old  song.  Marriage 
was  the  end-all  and  consummation  of  her  magic 
stories  and,  in  this  case,  it  had  simply  been  a  trifle 
more  difficult  to  consider  on  account  of  the  social 
difference  between  Sandy  and  her.  However,  that 
had  been  overcome  by  the  wand  of  imagination. 


64  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Sandy  would   evolve  into  something  so  peculiarly 
splendid  that  the  chasm  could  be  bridged! 

The  effect  of  Cynthia's  words  upon  Sandy  was 
tragic.  He  closed  his  eyes  in  order  that  he  might 
shut  out  the  hurting  power  of  her  face  and  command 
ing  eyes  —  but  between  the  lids  and  his  vision  the 
girl  mocked  him  —  he  could  not  escape  her! 

The  night  before  his  manhood  had  been  stung  to 
life  by  Mary's  cruelty;  it  was  fanned  into  live  flame 
now  by  the  childish  tenderness  of  this  girl  so  near  to 
womanhood  that  the  coming  charm  and  sweetness 
glorified  her.  Then  she  touched  him  and  a  wave  of 
delicious  pain  coursed  through  his  body. 

"How  did  —  this  happen?"  A  finger  lightly 
passed  over  the  bruise  on  his  cheek.  He  could  not 
answer. 

"I  know!  But  they  couldn't  hurt  the  you  of 
you,  Sandy.  I  see  the  bigness  shining  through  every 
thing.  Why  do  you  keep  your  eyes  shut?" 

Sandy  opened  his  eyes  desperately  and  saw  only 
the  child  until  eye  met  eye  again,  and  then  the  vision 
of  what  Cynthia  foretold  shook  him  once  more. 

"My  head  —  spins,"  he  said  vaguely;  "the  day's 
heat  made  it  ache." 

"You  will  take  my  money,  Sandy?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  will  come  back  and  —  marry  me?" 

"I'll  come  back  and  —  and " 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Sandy,  like  they  do  in  books?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  65 

"If  —  if  —  that  is  the  best  way,  yes." 

"Oh!  it  always  is!  It's  a  mighty  fine  way,  be 
cause  then  no  one  can  —  make  you  do  things.  I 
shall  make  you  do  whatever  I  choose,  Sandy  — will 
you  mind?" 

"No." 

"You  know  in  my  book,  Sandy,  there  is  a  Madam 
Bubble  and  I'm  making  myself  like  her.  You  can 
make  yourself  into  anything,  I  reckon,  Sandy,  if  you 
just  willy  and  dream  about  it.  Listen  to  me!" 
Cynthia  had  Sandy  by  the  shoulders  now  in  frank, 
playful  mood.  "  I  am  tall  and  comely  —  I  looked 
up  the  word,  and  it  says  it  means  to  be  agreeable 
and  good-looking.  Well,  I'm  good-looking  —  or  I'm 
going  to  be.  Then  the  book  says  Madam  Bubble 
speaks  smoothly  and  smiles  at  the  end  of  a  sentence. 
I've  tried  and  tried  and  now  I  can  smile  that  way. 
Look,  Sandy!" 

Again  Sandy  forced  himself  to  fasten  his  eyes  on 
the  sweet,  tender  mouth. 

"I  love  to  smile,  Sandy." 

Suddenly  the  girl's  gay  tone  changed;  she  came 
back  to  grim  facts  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

"How  I  shall  miss  you,  Sandy.  The  woods  will 
be  right  empty  —  till  you  come  again !  I  shall  make 
believe  find  you  on  the  hills  even  when  I  know  you 
are  not  here,  but  always  I  will  be  able  to  see  you  in 
the  Significant  Room!  I'm  going  to  study  and  make 
myself  fit  for  you  —  I  shall  be  right  busy.  I  am 


66  A. SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

going  to  ask  Aunt  Ann  to  let  me  learn  of  the  little 
doctor.  I  shall  study  the  books  you  have  and  —  it 
won't  seem  long,  Sandy!" 

The  brave  attempt  at  cheer,  the  tender  renuncia 
tion  in  the  soft  voice,  wrung  Sandy's  heart. 

"I'm  sorry  I  hated  the  little  doctor  for  teaching 
you,  Sandy.  She  helped  you  —  to  —  to  come  back 
quicker,  only  I  did  not  know  then.  She'll  help  me 
now,  I  reckon,  to  be  ready  for  you.  Sandy,  I  just 
couldn't  see  you  go  down  The  Way!  You  stand  here 
like  you  were  going  to  stay  on  forever  and  I'll  run 
down  the  trail.  I  won't  look  back  once,  Sandy,  but 
—  kiss  me  good-bye. " 

It  was  the  little  Cyn  of  the  past  playful  days  who 
pleaded  so  pathetically  —  forgetting  caste  and  divid 
ing  line.  The  little  Cyn  who  had  always  clung  to 
her  comrade  when  danger  or  fear  threatened;  but 
behind  the  childish  words  rang  the  woman's  alluring 
sweetness  —  the  woman  little  Cyn  was  some  time 
to  be.  By  a  mighty  effort  Sandy  Morley  bent  and 
kissed  the  pretty  upturned  mouth.  The  rough,  un 
lovely  clothing  could  not  disguise  the  dignity  of  the 
stiff,  boyish  form;  the  bluish  bruise  on  his  face  grew 
darker  as  the  hot  blood  surged  through  it,  but  the 
clear,  boyish  eyes  were  frank  and  simple  at  last  as  the : 

"Good-bye,  Cynthia!"  rang  sharply. 

There  was  one  look  more,  full  of  brave  sorrow, 
then  Cynthia  turned  abruptly  and  ran  like  a  wild 
thing  of  the  woods  into  the  shadow  of  the  pines. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  67 

Sandy  stood  and  watched  her,  with  his  thin  face 
twitching  miserably,  until  the  sound  of  her  going  died 
away;  then  he  groaned  and  bent  to  pick  up  the  box 
of  money  that  had  lain  unheeded  while  bigger  things 
had  been  conceived  and  born.  Slowly,  mechanically 
he  counted  the  small  fortune  to  the  last  piece,  then  he 
placed  two  half  dollars  in  the  box  and  left  it  where 
any  one  could  easily  find  it.  Poor  Sandy  was 
beyond  suffering  now,  or  indeed  beyond  any  sensa 
tion  except  that  of  dull  action.  His  head  was  aching 
excruciatingly;  fever  throbbed  in  his  body  and  a 
heavy  weariness  overcame  him.  He  would  rest 
before  he  went  to  his  father! 

Sinking  to  the  ground  he  leaned  against  the  tree 
under  which  Cynthia  had  stood  and,  for  a  moment, 
lost  consciousness. 


CHAPTER  V 

SO  YOU'VE  come  home  to  be  fed,  eh?" 
Martin  Morley  slunk  into  a  chair  and  eyed 
the  woman  by  the  cook-stove  ingratiatingly. 

"  I  sho'  have,"  he  replied;  "it  smells  like  ash  cakes, 
and  I've  brought  a  bucket  of  buttermilk  from  ole 
Mis'  Walden's  place.  She  certainly  is  a  techer- 
some  woman  but  a  powerful  good  manager. " 

"Where's  the  buttermilk?" 

"Outside  the  do'!" 

"Run  and  fetch  it,  Molly.'' 

The  child,  glaring  at  Martin,  sprang  to  do  her 
mother's  bidding  and  as  she  passed  Morley  he  seemed 
to  note,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  her  fantastic 
beauty.  And  then  Morley  stared  after  her  —  she 
looked  like  his  mother!  With  the  thought  a  blush 
of  shame  rose  to  his  thin,  sallow  face. 

His  mother!  Between  his  mother  and  him  lay  a 
black  abyss.  What  right  had  anything,  holding  part 
in  that  shadow,  to  look  like  his  mother?  He  arose 
and  almost  snatched  from  the  child  the  pail  she  had 
brought  in. 

"Hyar!"  he  cried,  "let  me  take  that,  you're 
slopping  it  over  the  floor.  Whar's  yo'  brother?" 

68 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  69 

With  this  Mary  Morley  turned  from  her  task  with 
hot,  blazing  face?  She  had  been  handsome  once  — 
but  the  fleeting  beauty  was  gone. 

"Sho'I  wharfs  that  blessed  son  of  yours?"  Mary 
screamed.  "You  better  go  and  find  out.  Do  you 
know  what  the  brat  has  been  doing  all  these  years? 
Years,  I  say!  While  we-all  have  been  slaving  and 
starving  he's  been  saving  up;  cheating  us-all  out  of 
his  earnings.  Eating  us-all  out  of  house  and  home 
while  he  —  saved  and  glutted!" 

Martin  stared  at  the  woman  as  if  she  were  speaking 
a  foreign  language. 

"Who  —  tole  yo?"  he  asked  vaguely,  hoping  by 
tthe  question  to  clarify  the  moment's  confusion. 

"Molly,  she  don'  keep  her  eye  on  him  foj  years! 
It's  under  a  stone  beyond  the  Branch  —  dollars  and 
dollars  while  we-all  done  without." 

"Whardidhe  —  get  it?" 

"He  only  gave  us  part  of  what  he  earned  —  he 
made  us-all  fools  while  he  hid  the  rest." 

This  was  too  bewildering  for  Martin  and  he  looked 
helplessly  at  the  girl  who  had  been  informer.  The 
bold  little  face  of  Molly  confronted  him  with  some 
thing  like  fear  in  it. 

"He'll  sho'  kill  me!"  she  whined,  "him  and  that  — 
that  Cynthia  Walden." 

This  latter  betrayal  was  new  to  Mary  Morley  and 
she  came  forward  angrily. 

"None  of  your  lying!"  she  commanded  —  "no- 


70  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

body's  going  to  hurt  you  so  long  as  you  tell  the  trutk. 
What  has  the  Walden  girl  got  to  do  with  the  stolen 
money?" 

"She  watched  it!  She  licked  me  right  smart 
once  because  I  —  tried  to  find  out  how  much  there 
was.  She  told  me  she'd  kill  me  sho'  if  I  let  on  and 
I  ain't  till  to-day  when  ma  said  she'd  send  me  down 
to  Miss  Lowe's  to  larn  things  if  she  only  had  money 
to  buy  me  some  shoes.  Why  should  Sandy  have  that 
money  and  me  no  shoes?" 

Why  he  yearned  to  lay  the  lash  on  the  girl  before 
him,  Martin  could  not  tell,  but  she  filled  him  with 
savage  anger.  She  looked  so  mean,  so  hard  and — 
young!  Then  he  tried  to  think  it  was  Sandy  with 
whom  he  was  angered.  He  had  left  the  boy  to  his 
own  devices,  to  be  sure,  but  —  hidden  money  and 
the  Walden  girl  aroused  a  sudden  hot  fear  in  him. 

"You  lie!"  he  cried  in  a  tone  that  for  many  a  day 
Mary,  with  her  growing  power  over  him,  had  not 
heard.  "You-all  lie;  you're  a  lying  lot.  I'll  find 

the  boy1 Martin  reached  up  and  took  down 

a  lash  whip  which  hung  beneath  an  old  rusted  sword 
on  the  wall.  "I'll  find  the  boy  and  the  truth,  and 
by  heaven !  the  sneak  and  liar,  whoever  he  may  be, 
will  get  a  taste  of  this!"  He  snapped  the  lash 
sharply. 

Molly  shrank  from  his  path  and  Mary  gazed  after 
him  in  sullen  amazement.  Led  by  some  intuition, 
Martin  strode  down  the  path  leading  to  the  Branch 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  71 

and,  just  as  he  crossed  the  almost-dry  stream  bed,  he 
saw,  on  the  hill  opposite,  Sandy  coming  toward  him. 
The  boy  stopped  as  he  caught  sight  of  his  father 
and  waited  at  the  edge  of  the  woods.  His  brief 
rest  had  refreshed  him  and  the  cool  evening  breeze, 
bearing  a  shower  in  its  keeping,  calmed  his  aching 
head  and  feverish  body.  Martin  noticed  how  white 
and  haggard  the  boy  looked  and  some  instinct  warned 
him  to  hide  the  whip  behind  his  back.  When  he 
reached  Sandy  the  two  stepped  back  to  where  a  log 
lay  across  the  path  and  upon  that  Martin  dropped, 
while  Sandy  braced  against  a  tree. 

"Whar  was  yo'  going?"  asked  Morley. 

"Home,  Dad.  I  wanted  to  see  you  —  and 
then " 

"Well " 

"I'm  going  away!" 

"Going  away?" 

"Come,  too,  Dad!  Come  and  let  us  fight  it  out 

together.  She "  The  boy's  eyes,  haunted  and 

fierce,  turned  toward  the  home  place.  "She  don't 
belong  to  us  or  with  us.  I  don't  know  how  better 
to  say  it  —  but  she  don't.  She  won't  mind;  no  one 
will  mind  after  the  first.  I've  got  to  go  and  —  I 
want  you!  I've  been  saving  and  saving  little  by 
little  for  years  —  there's  enough  now  and  we  can 
go  to-night.  Out  beyond  —  somewhere  —  Dad, 
there's  something  better  for  us  than  —  this.  By  and 
by  we'll  come  back.  We'll  come  and  help  -  "  and 


72  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

a  sob  choked  the  words;  "we'll  come  and  help  all 
Lost  Hollow.  Somehow  I  feel  —  called!" 

Martin  Morley  stared  at  the  boy  before  him  as 
though  he  saw  a  ghost.  And  indeed  a  ghost  of  the 
grim  past  did  confront  him.  He  saw  himself  as  he 
once  was  ere  his  Inheritance  was  downed  forever. 
He,  too,  had  wanted  to  break  away;  get  out  to  the 
free  chance  and  the  new  hope. 

"You  can't  do  it!"  he  said  in  a  faint  voice  to  that 
ghost  of  himself  standing  opposite  in  the  darkening 
shadows.  "There's  something  as  allus  holds  us-all 
from  getting  away.  It  began  back  there  in  grand 
father's  day  —  it's  settled  on  us-all  like  a  death 

grip." 

Sandy  listened  as  if  already  he  was  far  and  apart 
from  all  the  sordid,  little  hampering  things  that  made 
up  the  life  of  Lost  Hollow. 

"What  did  —  grandfather  do?"  he  asked,  like  one 
who  had  no  special  interest  in  the  matter. 

"It  was  my  grandfather,  he  was  the  friend  of 
Lansing  Hertford.  They  said  he  betrayed  his 
friend  —  but  they-all  lied.  First  it  was  a  whisper, 
then  in  your  grandfather's  time  they-all  spoke 
louder.  The  lie  took  away  the  faith  of  men  from 
us-all  and  —  that  ended  it!  The  lie  slinks  low  till 
some  Morley  raises  his  head  and  then  it  springs  up 
and  strikes  him  down." 

"It  will  not  strike  me  down!"  Sandy,  weak  and 
forlorn,  straightened  against  the  tree  with  the  dark- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  73 

ness  almost  blotting  him  from  the  eyes  fastened 
tenderly  on  his  face,  spoke  firmly.  "  I'll  kill  the  lie 
whatever  it  was!  What  did  they  say,  Dad?" 

Never  before  had  Sandy  cared.  He  knew  there 
was  something  lurking  in  the  past  that  caused  his 
father  to  slink  from  the  mountain  people,  caused  the 
men  and  women  to  avoid  and  shun  him,  but  it  had 
always  existed.  It  was  part  of  Lost  Hollow  and  the 
Morley  fate. 

Then,  alone  with  the  last  of  his  race,  Martin 
Morley  told  the  old  story  that  had  sapped  the  vi 
tality  of  his  family.  Such  a  small,  mean  thing  it 
seemed  to  have  downed  the  once  good  stock!  But 
in  a  place  where  tradition  thrives  on  starvation,  lack 
of  ambition  and  misunderstanding,  it  had  done  its 
work.  As  Morley  drawled  the  ancient  wrong  to 
light,  as  he  eased  his  soul  of  the  burden  and  so 
shared  it  with  his  boy,  his  eye  brightened  and  he  sat 
straighter  upon  the  fallen  log  for  —  at  its  com 
pletion —  Sandy  laughed! 

"It  was  this  —  er  —  way.  In  them  days  us-all 
and  the  Hertfords  was  equals.  The  plantation 
lying  off  to  the  east  of  the  old  Hertford  home  place 
belonged  to  us-all"  —  many  and  many  were  the 
quarts  of  berries  and  bushels  of  nuts  Sandy  had 
gathered  from  there!  —  "but  it  slipped  away  —  it's 
all  gone  years  past.  My  grandfather  and  Lansing 
Hertford  was  close  friends  —  none  closer.  They 
fought  and  loved  side  by  side  till  Hertford  —  he 


74  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

got  some  kind  of  government  order  to  go  to  furrin' 
parts  a  mighty  distance  from  Lost  Hollow.  Some 
time  after  he  went  my  grandfather  followed  on  a 
pleasure  trip  —  a  pleasure  trip,  Sandy,  think  d  • 
that!  He  went  away  for  pleasure!  His  pockets 
full  of  money  and  him  right  well  fixed!  On  his 
travels  he  stopped  and  called  on  Hertford  in  them 
furrin'  parts  and  Hertford  he  gave  to  grandfather  a 
mighty  precious  bottle  of  stuff  to  bring  back  home  to 
a  big  merchant  down  Lynchburg  way.  What  hap 
pened  the  Lord  only  knows,  Sandy,  but  when  the 
merchant  opened  the  bottle  there  wasn't  nothing  but 
water  in  it!  No  one  ever  spoke  out  in  grandfather's 
day  —  they  dassent.  He  was  a  mighty  proud  and 
upperty  man,  but  a  whisper  and  a  nudge  can  do  the 
work,  and  little  by  little  grandfather  was  pushed 
down  and  out.  In  my  father's  time  they  spoke 
louder  —  they  don'  said  how  grandfather  had  sold 
the  precious  stuff  before  he  came  back;  Lord, 
Sandy,  I  leave  it  to  you,  son,  would  he  have 
come  if  he  had  done  that  low-down,  mean 
trick?" 

"No!"  Sandy  breathed  the  word  like  a  hiss,  and 
in  the  darkness  and  his  weakness  he  felt  the  poison 
of  the  lie  stealing  into  his  thought,  but  he  flung  his 
head  up  proudly.  "No!  No!"  he  repeated  clearly 
and  defiantly;  "No!" 

"But  they-all  never  trusted  none  of  us  again." 
Sandy  recalled  his  first  visit  to  the  Walden  back 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  75 

door  and  his  courage  rose  —  they  had  learned  to 
trust  him  even  in  Lost  Hollow ! 

"Grandfather  tried  to  rise  up  and  failed.  Father 
had  his  hope,  but  it  was  killed;  I  strove,  Sandy,  I 
sho'  did,  God  knows!  but  you  see  how  it  has  been 
with  me.  There's  no  use,  son,  we-all  is  damned!" 

"I  am — •  going  to  succeed!" 

Sandy's  voice  struck  through  the  gloom  and  still 
ness  like  a  tangible  blow.  Martin  started  and  gave  a 
nervous  laugh. 

"Come  home!"  he  said;  "come  home  and  bring 
your  money  with  you.  It  will  buy  peace  and  pardon 
— •  them's  better  than  any  fool  idees.  And  just 
remember  this,  Sandy  Morley,  we-all  may  be  das 
tards  and  hard  drinkers  and  what  not,  but  we  sho' 
don't  desert  women  and  children.  They,  down 
there,  belong  to  us,  son,  and  I  expect  you  and  me  be 
long  to  them!" 

Martin  rose  hurriedly  and  dropped  the  whip  in  the 
underbrush. 

"Come  on  home,  son!" 

But  Sandy  did  not  move. 

"It's  come  with  me  or  I  go  alone,  Dad." 

The  child  was  master  of  the  man! 

"You  mean  it?  You  mean  you  dare  to  disobey  — 
me?" 

"I'm  going  to  —  take  my  chance,  Dad,  out  among 
—  folks!" 

"You  —  will  —  obey  —  me!"     But  even   as  the 


76  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

words  were  spoken,  Martin  felt  how  impotent  they 
were. 

"It's  good-bye,  Dad?" 

It  was  good-bye.  Both  man  and  boy  realized  it. 
The  night  closed  them  in  and  the  protecting  trees 
sheltered  them  for  a  moment  more. 

"You  po'  little  lad!  you  mean  it?" 

"Yes,  Dad.     Will  you  come ?" 

Martin  turned  one  glance  to  where  the  light 
from  his  cabin  door  shone;  then  he  groaned  and 
said: 

"No!  God  knows  they  do  belong  to  me  and  I'm 
too  old,  too  broken.  The  curse  will  get  the  best 
of  you,  boy,  and  you'll  come  trailing  home.  I'll 

be  here  —  then!  But "  And  now  Martin  came 

closer  and  held  him  by  the  thin,  trembling  shoulders. 

"Grandfather  never  done  it!  It  was  one  man's 
word  agin  another's  and  the  Hertfords  have  the 
luck  —  they  allus  had.  Onct  one  of  them  come 
back" — and  here  Morley  came  closer  to  Sandy — - 
"  it  was  back  in  ole  Miss  Ann  Walden's  early  days 
—  he  came  back  and  something  happened!"  The 
whisper  made  Sandy  creep  with  chill. 

"What?"  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"He  done  a  mighty  wrong  to  —  Miss  Ann's  little 
sister,  her  that  was  called  Queenie  and  looked  it! 
We-all  knew,  but  we-all  stood  by  Miss  Ann,  even 
such  as  me  stood  by  her!  it  was  the  only  thing  we- 
all  could  do  for  her.  He  got  away!  Then  that  po' 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  77 

chile  took  to  watching  from  the  balcony  for  him  who 
never  come  —  and  then  she  went  away  —  and  by 
and  by  —  the  baby  come  home!" 

"The  baby?" 

Sandy  trembled  and  grew  faint.  He  had  eaten 
little  and  the  burden  being  laid  upon  him  was  more 
than  his  strength  could  bear. 

"Cynthia  —  the  HI'  girl  with  the  face  of  Queenie, 
her  mother?" 

"No!  No!"  What  he  feared  and  abhorred  the 
boy  could  not  tell,  but  every  instinct  in  him  rose  to 
do  battle  for  the  child  —  friend  of  his  starved  and 
empty  life. 

"It's  your  part,  son,  to  stand  by  and  never  let  on! 
We-all  have  done  it;  we-all  took  what  Miss  Ann  said 
for  gospel  truth  —  and  so  must  you !" 

Then  it  was  that  Sandy  laughed!  The  sound 
startled  and  shocked  Martin  and  he  almost  reeled 
from  before  it,  but  strangely  enough  it  seemed  to 
brighten  the  heavy  darkness. 

"I  don't  believe  it!"  said  Sandy  between  his  bursts 
of  laughter.  "  It's  a  bad  dream  —  we-all  must 
wake  up." 

"We  can't  fight  them,  Sandy!" 

The  poor  legacy  of  hatred,  wrong,  loyalty,  and 
despair  was  all  that  Martin  Morley  had  to  offer  his 
boy  as  a  weapon  in  the  coming  fight.  The  useless- 
ness  and  weakness  of  it  struck  Sandy  even  then  as 
he  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  new  life.  What  did 


78  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

it  matter?  But  it  was  the  small  thing,  the  old  past 
that  made  up  the  shabby  present  of  The  Hollow.  He 
was  going  to  leave  everything  —  even  the  old  grudge 
• —  already  the  wider  thought  called  him  and  gave  a 
touch  of  daring  to  his  laugh. 

"Good-bye,  Dad!" 

And  then  Morley  staggered  toward  Sandy  and 
stretched  his  arms  out  to  him.  There  was  one  thing 
more  he  had  to  offer! 

"I  —  I  want  to  tell  you  'bout  — yo'  mother,  Sandy 
—  and  me!  No  one  ain't  all  bad;  she  was  all  good 
and  yo'  must  lay  hold  o'  the  good.  It  will  help  if 
yo'  can  cling  fast  enough." 

Oddly  enough  Sandy  found  himself  against  his 
father's  breast  without  a  sense  of  strangeness.  Long 
years  ago  he  had  so  lain  in  the  strong  arms  —  the 
recollection  brought  others  in  its  wake;  memories  of 
safe,  happy  days  —  before  Mary  had  come  into 
their  lives. 

"I  was  older  then  her!"  Martin  spoke  as  if  con 
fessing  to  one  who  demanded  the  best  and  the  truth 
at  last.  It  was  as  though  he  felt  that  with  the  neg 
lect  and  injustice  he  had  of  late  shown  the  boy,  there 
had  been  the  holding  back  of  his  just  due.  "Yo' 
mother  came  from  The  Forge,  she  left  a  good  home 
for  me  because  she  believed  in  me  —  she  was  terrible 
young  and  trusting  and  she  didn't  live  to  —  find  out! 
I  was  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  and  I  tried.  God 
help  me!  I  tried,  but  it  was  the  old  curse  and  not 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  79 

even  the  love  I  had  for  her  could  keep  me  up.  But 
while  she  lived  —  it  was  better.  The  cabin  was 
clean  and  tidy  and  she  always  sang  about  her  work. 
She  only  stopped  singing  toward  the  last  —  when 
she  got  thinking  about  you  she  got  solemner  and 
stiller  and  then  —  you  came!  She  —  died  the  day 
after,  and  the  blackness  of  it  has  shut  the  sunlight 
out  of  my  life  ever  since,  Sandy.  I  ought  to  have 
took  my  pay  and  made  no  fuss,  and  for  a  time  I  did. 
You  and  me  lived  on  in  the  cabin  with  a  woman's 
hand  to  help  at  the  pinch,  and  for  years  I  kept  my 
head  and  yours  above  water.  But  when  yo'  are  a 
man,  son,  you'll  think  kinder  o'  me  than  what  yo'  do 
to-day;  a  man's  a  man,  and  a  lonely  man  is  the 
worst  of  all  —  and  so"  —  Martin's  grizzly  head  was 
pressed  against  Sandy's  —  "and  so  —  Mary  came! 
She  didn't  ask  much;  she  only  wanted  to  live  along 

with  us-all  in  the  cabin,  but "  The  dreary 

years  seemed  to  spread  before  both  man  and  boy  in 
the  silence  which  followed. 

"Good-bye,  Sandy,  good-bye!"  Martin  choked  and 
held  the  boy  off  at  arm's  length.  "  Yo'  great-grand 
father's  name  was  Sandford  Morley.  I  gave  you  the 
name  for  good  luck  —  maybe  it  —  will  help.  Good 
bye!" 

"Good-bye  —  dear  old  Dad!" 

The  one-time  trust  and  affection  flooded  the  mo 
ment  and  place.  Quite  simply  and  naturally  they 
kissed  and  fell  apart. 


8o  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"  Yo'  go  first,  lad  —  yo'  ain't  got  nothing  to  take?" 
Sandy  shook  his  hea-d. 

"No,  Dad.  Good-bye.  The  money  will  help 
me  on.  Some  day  I'm  coming  back,  Dad,  coming 
back  to  help!  Wait  for  me,  Dad,  and  hold  tight  for 
me  —  so  I'll  be  glad.  Dear,  dear,  old  Dad!" 

Then  Sandy  turned  and  set  his  face  toward  The 
Appointed  Way.  It  had  been  hard  to  see  Cynthia 
flee  from  him,  leaving  him  lonely  and  forsaken;  but 
it  was  harder  now  to  leave  the  sad,  broken  father  in 
the  desolate  blackness  of  night  —  and  enter  the  new, 
hard  life  alone!  But  with  never  a  backward  look 
Sandford  Morley  went  to  meet  his  fate. 

Martin  stood  and  listened  until  the  last  sound 
dropped  into  silence.  Then  he  went  back.  It 
was  pitchy  dark  when  he  reached  the  cabin.  There 
were  mutterings  of  thunder  in  the  distance  again, 
and  the  odour  of  scorched  meal  in  the  air.  Mary, 
with  Molly  hanging  to  her,  stood  by  the  rough 
table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"Did  you  find  him?"  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"And  you " 

Martin  turned  and  the  look  on  his  face  silenced 
the  woman. 

"That  boy,"  he  said  slowly,  "belongs  to  me,  do 
you  understand?  Keep  your  tongue  off  him  — 
your  hands  will  never  touch  him  again.  He's  mine 
and  God  Almighty's  from  now  on.  You've  starve*: 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  Si 

him  and  beat  him  for  the  last  time  and  now  —  never 
speak  his  name  again.  He's  mine  and  God's  — 
and  his  mother's!" 

Martin  was  spent.  He  dropped  into  a  chair  and, 
folding  his  arms  upon  the  back,  bent  his  head  upon 
them. 

Then  Mary's  wrath  broke. 

"He's  yours,  is  he?"  she  sneered,  shaking  her  child 
off  and  striding  toward  the  bowed  figure  —  "he's 
yours  and  God's  and  his  mother's!  He  belongs  to 
a  fine  lot,  doesn't  he,  the  ungrateful  little  beast? 
And  I'm  to  keep  my  tongue  off  him,  eh?  Ain't  I 
good  enough  for  him  and  you  and  the  high  company 
you  belong  to?" 

Resentment  old  and  rankling  rose  fiercely.  What 
ever  she  had  been  and  was,  Mary  clung  to  Morley 
faithfully  according  to  her  light  and  she  writhed 
under  the  sting  of  the  implied  insult  hurled  at  her 
now. 

Morley  did  not  move.  A  sense  of  desolation 
swept  over  him.  He  was  following  the  trail  of  the 
lonely  boy  in  the  dark  and  the  woman's  infuriated 
words  meant  no  more  to  him  than  the  rumbling 
thunder. 

"Who  do  I  and  mine  belong  to?"  the  tense  voice 
went  on;  "to  the  devil  I  suppose!  Well,  then,  Mart 
Morley,  you  listen  to  me  now.  This  child"  —  she 
turned  fiercely  toward  Molly  —  "is  yours,  mine  and 
the  devil's.  You're  a  lazy  lot  that  left  us  to  starve 


82  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

or  live  as  we  could,  but  the  devil  has  taken  a  hand  in 
the  game,  do  you  hear?  I  reckon  he'll  see  us  through 
and  no  thanks  to  you!  From  now  on  you  take 
what  you  can  get  and  keep  your  mouth  shut  or  — 
the  devil  and  I  will  know  why." 

And  then  Morley  lifted  his  head.  The  look  of 
misery  on  his  pinched  face  should  have  moved  one  to 
pity,  but  it  did  not  move  the  heart  of  Mary  Morley. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked  wonderingly. 
"I  —  I  —  didn't  follow  all  —  you  said." 

"And  there's  to  be  no  questioning,"  the  voice 
had  grown  louder.  "No  questions  —  just  take  or 
leave  what's  offered;  go  or  stay  as  you  please,  but  if 
that  brat  of  yours,  God's  and  his  mother's,  ever  shows 
his  face  near  me  or  mine  —  I'll  "  —  she  laughed 
hoarsely — "I'll  make  him  a  discredit  to  you  all! 
Come  move  up  and  eat  the  food  I  provided  and 
drink  the  sour  milk  that  was  given  you!" 

Morley  rose  unsteadily.  He  tried  to  speak  and 
command  the  situation  that  in  some  subtle  way  had 
escaped  his  control,  but  he  felt  bereft  and  desperate. 
Now  that  Sandy  was  quite  beyond  recall,  to  whom 
could  he  turn?  His  strength  and  spirit  were  crushed 
and  degraded  —  he  moved  up  and  sullenly  took  the 
plate  and  cup  that  were  pushed  toward  him!  Once 
he  glanced  at  Molly.  She  leered  at  him  over  the 
edge  of  her  mug  and  her  eyes  were  hard  and  cruel. 

Martin  Morley  pushed  the  untouched  food  from 
him  and  strode  to  the  door  of  the  cabin.  The 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  83 

storm  was  coming  up  fast  now.  The  lightning 
flashed  and  the  thunder  shook  the  house.  Morley's 
heart  ached  for  the  boy  struggling  alone  and  defence 
less  through  the  night,  but  he  was  glad  he  was 
gone!  Whatever  lay  before  of  defeat  or  victory 
—  he  thanked  God  that  the  last  of  his  race  had  had 
courage  at  least  to  make  an  attempt  for  freedom. 

The  house  grew  very  quiet;  Mary  had  taken 
Molly  to  the  loft  overhead,  and  presently  Martin 
heard  her  deep  breathing  and  the  ne-tling  of  the 
little  girl  in  the  straw  mattress.  The  storm  passed 
at  last  and  above  Lost  Mountain  a  bright  and  glow 
ing  star  showed  through  the  parting  clouds. 

Cautiously  Martin  whistled  and  then  waited. 
Night  after  night  this  was  his  habit.  When  the 
others  had  departed  he  called  Sandy's  dog,  fed  it 
from  the  scraps  he  could  gather,  and  comforted  him 
self  with  the  companionship  of  the  faithful  collie 
that  was  too  wise  to  tempt  Providence  when  Mary 
was  around. 

Martin  whistled  a  second  time  and  then  called 
softly:  "Bob!  oh  — Bob!" 

There  was  no  response.  Again  the  man  spoke 
drawlingly  and  fondly:  "Bob!  oh,  Bob!"  Then  he 
went  to  the  shed  near  the  cabin  and  looked  in.  That 
had  been  Sandy's  bed-chamber  since  the  rule  of 
Mary  had  begun  —  how  terribly  empty  and  lonely  it 
looked  now!  How  afraid  the  boy  must  have  been 
when  at  first  he  was  driven  from  the  home  place  to 


84  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  deserted  outhouse!  He  had  never  whimpered 
nor  complained.  "Poor  little  lad!"  breathed  Martin, 
and  leaned  against  the  doorway  of  the  wretched  room. 
There  was  the  ragged  mattress  and  the  little  nest 
where  the  slight  boyish  body  had  so  often  rested 
after  the  day's  cheerless  toil.  On  the  wall  were 
pinned  two  or  three  bright  pictures  that  had  drifted 
somehow  to  the  barren  place;  there  was  a  pitiful  little 
frayed  jacket  hanging  on  a  nail  and  a  pair  of  sadly 
torn  shoes  in  one  corner. 

The  objects  caused  Martin  to  groan  as  he  beheld 
them.  He  suffered  as  he  had  not  suffered  since 
Sandy's  mother  died  in  his  arms!  Like  a  drowning 
man  he  relived  the  years  —  the  hard  years  when  he 
cared  for  and  loved  the  baby-child  alone  in  the  cabin. 
He  recalled  the  boy's  sunny  ways  and  sweet  confi 
dence,  until  the  Woman  Mary  entered  their  life.  He 
had  been  miserable,  his  lower  nature  craved  its 
own,  and  Mary  came!  He  had  accepted  and  he  had 
lost  his  self-respect;  everything!  There  was  nothing 
left;  there  would  be  nothing  more  until  —  the  end 
came,  unless  Sandy  succeeded.  Just  then  the  moon 
came  over  a  bank  of  black  clouds  and  lit  The  Hollow. 
It  shone  full  on  Lost  Mountain  and  into  the  deserted 
shed  where  but  lately  Sandy  had  suffered  and  slept. 

Martin  Morley  dropped  on  his  knees  and  turned 
his  haggard,  pain-racked  face  upward.  He  had  once 
been  a  religious  man;  had  once  been  a  leader  in  the 
little  church  at  The  Forge  before  he  gave  up  hope  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  85 

ambition.  His  prayers  had  been  the  pride  and  boast 
of  the  mountainside,  but  that  was  long  ago,  and  his 
lips  with  difficulty  formed,  now,  the  sacred  words. 

"God-a'mighty!"  he  breathed,  "  take  care  of  that 
HI'  boy  out  there  alone  on  The  Way.  Don't  fail  him 
on  the  big  road;  keep  him  to  the  end!  I  ain't  asking 
You  to  do  anything  more  for  me;  I've  give  up;but  he's 
just  started  forth !  Watch  him ;  keep  him ;  don't  let  the 
sins  of  his  fathers  or  his  enemies  tech  him.  Amen!" 

There  was  a  note  of  command  in  the  prayer.  A 
demand  for  justice  and  protection  for  one  who  could 
not  defend  himself.  Having  worded  his  appeal, 
Martin  rose  stiffly  from  his  knees  and  closed  the  door 
of  the  shed  after  him. 

He  had  done  what  he  could;  he  must  bear  the 
agony  and  remorse  silently  from  now  on.  The  old 
laziness  and  indifference  returned  slowly  as  he  re 
traced  his  steps,  and  when  he  entered  the  silent  cabin 
again  he  went  naturally  to  the  crooked  stairs  leading 
up  to  the  loft.  The  door  was  closed  and  locked! 
Mary  had,  in  this  final  fashion,  proclaimed  her  inde 
pendence. 

Martin  made  no  effort  to  force  his  way  or  question 
the  proceedings;  with  a  weary  sigh  he  looked  about, 
then  went  quietly  to  an  old  settle  by  the  hearth. 
Taking  off  his  wet  and  ragged  coat  he  rolled  it  up  and 
placed  it  for  a  pillow.  Finally  he  stretched  his  ach 
ing  body  upon  the  improvised  bed  and  fell  into  a 
restless  slumber. 


VI 

THE  HOT,  breathless  morning  followed  the 
storm  through  which  Sandy  departed,  and 
fell  like  a  moist  blanket  over  Lost  Hollow. 
Even  up  at  Stoneledge  the  vapour  rose  and  settled 
depressingly.  Every  door  and  window  in  the  livable 
part  of  the  house  was  set  wide  to  any  chance  stirring 
of  the  dead  air.  Ann  Walden  in  the  sitting-room, 
old  Lily  Ivy  in  the  kitchen,  and  the  child  Cynthia  in 
the  dim,  shadowy  library,  in  the  unlivable  part  of 
the  house,  were  listless  and  indolent.  Presently  the 
black  woman,  having  completed  the  preparations  of 
vegetables  for  the  simple  mid-day  meal,  came  to  the 
sitting-room  door  and  contemplated  her  mistress  with 
respectful  eyes.  Ivy  was  fully  seventy  years  old,  but 
she  was  straight  and  strong  as  a  woman  of  fifty  and  as 
keen  and  capable.  She  had  been  carefully  reared  as 
a  house  servant  in  the  days  of  slavery,  and  she  had 
followed  the  downward  fortunes  of  the  Waldens  with 
dignity  and  courage  worthy  a  more  glorious  cause. 
Her  spotless  but  much  patched  gown  was  almost 
covered  by  a  huge  white  apron.  She  wore  a  kerchief 
and  a  turban-like  head  covering. 

"Miss  Ann,  honey,  a  leak  done  sprung  in  the  roof 

86 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  87 

over  the  west  chamber  las'  night.  The  rain  am  per 
meated  through  the  flo'  and  marked  the  ceiling  in 
de  libr'y." 

Cynthia,  lying  on  the  horsehair  sofa  of  the  dim 
room  across  the  hall,  looked  up  and  saw  the  new  and 
ugly  spot  over  her  head. 

"Well,  Ivy,  shut  the  west  chamber  off  from  the 
rest  of  the  house.  We  have  far  too  much  space  to 
care  for  as  it  is.  When  I  reconstruct  Stoneledge  it 
will  be  time  enough  to  reopen  the  disused  rooms." 

Ivy  bowed  her  head  complacently.  It  had  al 
ways  been  the  same  since  the  war.  One  room  after 
another  had  been  shut  off  until  the  wide  h^ts 
dividing  the  house,  the  living-room,  dining-room, 
kitchen  and  three  upper  bedrooms  were  all  that  were 
left  for  family  use. 

"Yes,  chile."  Then  after  a  pause:  "I  don'  hear 
how  dat  wretch,  Black  Jim,  was  stricken,  by  God- 
a'mighty's  justice,  on  The  Way,  las'  night.  He  was 
found  plumb  dead  under  a  tree  whar  de  lightnm' 
felled  him." 

Miss  Ann  raised  her  spectacled  eyes  with  some 
thing  like  interest. 

"We-all  will  be  safer,"  she  said  quietly.  "A 
darky  like  Jim,  who  gets  a  twist  in  his  head  about 
freedom  and  license,  is  a  mighty  dangerous  creature." 

"Yes,  chile,  dat's  plain  truth." 

Cynthia  held  her  breath.  Sandy  had  been  on  The 
Way  —  what  had  God-a'mighty's  justice  done  to 


88  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

him?  Surely  if  any  evil  had  befallen  him  Ivy  would 
know.  By  some  intangible  current  the  gossip  and 
news  of  the  hills  travelled  rapidly  and  more  or  less 
accurately . 

"Dat  boy  of  Morley's  has  runned  away  from 
home!" 

At  this  Ann  Walden  took  off  her  spectacles  and 
made  no  pretence  of  indifference. 

"Run  away?"  she  said.  "I  didn't  know  a  Morley 
had  spirit  enough  to  do  that  even  with  conditions  as 
they  must  be  along  of  that  woman  of  Martin's  in  the 
cabin.  Where  has  he  gone?" 

"Nobody  ain't  knowing  exactly  —  just  gone!  I 
expect  he'll  turn  up  again  when  his  stomick  done 
clutch  him.  Dat  chile  never  done  us-all  no  'commo- 
dation  job,  but  he  was  too  good  to  live  up  to  that 
cabin  in  de  Holler.  If  I  knowed  whar  he  done  hide 
himself,  I  clar  I'd  fotch  him  some  victuals  even  if  he 
was  sharp  as  a  sarpint's  tooth  in  a  bargain." 

"If  you  hear  of  him,  let  me  know,"  Ann  Walden 
said  quietly;  "he's  too  good,  as  you  say,  to  be  left 
to  that  evil  woman  Martin  lives  with.  I've  had  the 
boy  on  my  mind  for  some  time.  He  has  the  mark 
of  cruelty  and  neglect;  he'  been  mighty  silent  too, 
about  it  all  — •  he  resembles  his  grandfather." 

And  now  Cynthia  breathed  again  freely  and 
happily.  A  breath  of  air  stole  through  the  win 
dow  and  across  the  room  —  the  atmosphere  was 
clearing. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  89 

"Whar'shTMiss?" 

"Lying  down  across  in  the  library.  Go  close  the 
door  softly,  Ivy,  and  come  back.  I  have  something 
to  say  to  you  about  her." 

The  child  upon  the  sofa  wished  to  be  alone  with 
herself,  so  she  shut  her  eyes  and  pretended  sleep  when 
the  lean,  black  hand  reached  into  the  room  and  drew 
to  the  door.  Cynthia  wanted  to  think  about 
Sandy;  she  wanted  to  follow  him,  in  fancy,  after 
her  own  fashion,  and  above  all  else  she  wanted  to 
be  with  him  in  the  Significant  Room. 

Once  the  door  secured  her  from  intrusion  she 
arose  from  the  sofa  and  locked  it  quietly;  then  she 
set  the  window  wider  to  the  summer  day.  The 
casement  was  choked  with  the  yellow  rosebush  and 
heavy  honeysuckle;  the  fragrance  was  almost  sti 
fling,  but  Cynthia  heeded  it  not. 

"Now,"  she  whispered,  with  the  slow  smile  coming 
to  her  lips,  "now,  Sandy  Morley,  I'm  going  to  hang 
your  picture  in  its  place!" 

The  large  gray  eyes  fastened  upon  the  empty  space 
near  the  chimney,  the  space  where,  when  the  after 
noon  was  fair  and  clear,  the  western  sun  poured  its 
light  through  the  tangle  of  vines  at  the  window  and 
fell  full  upon  it. 

"The  man  who  cut  his  way  through  his  enemies." 
Cynthia  knew  her  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  as  many  chil 
dren  know  their  nursery  rhymes.  It  was  her  only 
guide  to  life,  but  she  interpreted  it  for  herself. 


90  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"The  Biggest  of  Them  All."  And  then  the  girl 
laughed  her  rich,  rippling  laugh. 

It  was  Madam  Bubble  now  who  stood  before  the 
fireplace,  a  gentle  creature  with  little  head  bent 
forward  in  listening  attitude  and  a  waiting,  pleading 
look  in  the  fine  eyes.  A  bit  too  tall  and  thin  was 
she  for  grace,  but  Time  would  take  care  of  that  — 
and,  fortunately,  Cynthia  was  many-sided.  The 
dull,  monotonous  life  of  Stoneledge  had  retarded 
development.  Never  having  mingled  with  children^ 
she  was  untested  and  untried  along  certain  lines. 
Poor,  shabby  Sandy  Morley  had  been  and  was  her 
only  interpretation  of  youth  as  it  had  touched  her 
personally  —  he  and  her  ungoverned  imagination 
had  supplied  the  motive  power,  so  far,  for  the  foun 
dation  of  her  emotions. 

"I  —  helped  you ! "  she  said  softly  to  "The  Biggest 
of  Them  All" — "I.  And  wherever  you  are  you  will 
remember  that." 

There  was  an  old,  cracked,  dimmed  mirror  between 
the  chimney-place  and  the  window,  and  tiptoeing  to 
that,  Cynthia  viewed  herself  as  if  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life.  The  image  was  strange  to  her;  confusing 
and  half  fearsome.  It  was  not  the  reflection  of  the 
awkward,  thin  Cynthia  Walden  that  she  saw; 
Cynthia  of  the  long  braids  of  hair  and  short  patched 
gingham  gown  of  irregular  length  —  owing  to  many 
washings  and  shrinkings.  It  was  the  reflection  of 
something  Cynthia  was  to  be  some  day  who  looked 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  91 

back  at  the  questioning  girl.  Slowly  the  colour  rose 
to  the  pale  face  and  the  big  eyes  flinched. 

"Stand  straighter!"  commanded  the  inquisitor 
before  the  mirror.  The  shoulders  braced,  but  too 
long  had  the  slender  neck  bent  forward  to  obey  the 
sudden  exertion  now.  Cynthia  would  always  carry 
that  waiting  pose! 

The  ugly  checked  gown  next  caught  the  critical 
eyes  and  the  impotent  hands  pulled  it  down  at  the 
waist,  while  a  sense  of  its  unloveliness  brought  a 
quiver  to  the  sensitive  mouth.  "Hateful!"  was  the 
verdict. 

Then  with  fumbling,  unpractised  hands  Cynthia 
gathered  her  two  long  shining  braids  and  bound 
them  around  her  head  —  somewhere  she  had  seen 
the  fashion,  and  a  feminine  instinct  appropriated  it. 
Next  she  stepped  quietly  to  the  window  and  broke 
off  a  deep  yellow  rose  and  a  delicate  trailing  bit  of 
honeysuckle  rich  with  bloom;  these  she  wound  with 
intuitive  skill  in  her  twisted  braids;  the  rose  nestled 
close  to  the  left  ear.  Thus  adorned  she  tested  the 
mirror  again.  Gone  now  was  the  ugly  gown;  gone 
was  the  awkward  pose  —  the  face  that  smiled  out  at 
the  young  judge  was  a  wonderful  face  with  its  secret 
promise  of  by  and  by. 

"  Oh !  you  pretty  honey-girl ! "  There  was  absolute 
detachment  and  lack  of  vanity  in  the  words.  The 
woman-nature  of  Cynthia  was  simply  giving  homage 
to  a  young  creature  worthy  its  admiration.  "Oh! 


92  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

I  want  to  kiss  you  and  love  you !  I  want  you  to  kiss 
and  love  me!"  And  then  the  denied  craving  for 
affection  and  fondling  rose  supreme.  "I  want  to 
cuddle  you,  honey  —  you  are  mighty  sweet!" 

The  slow  smile  touched  the  lips  of  the  reflection  — 
the  dear,  slow  smile  of  Madam  Bubble. 

Cynthia  pressed  close  to  the  old  mirror  and  laid 
her  lips  to  that  alluring  creature  she  was  some  time 
to  be! 

"Honey!"  she  whispered,  "dear,  pretty  honey- 
girl!"  The  tears  clouded  the  love-filled  eyes;  a 
sense  of  loneliness  drove  the  rapture  away,  and  the 
hands  fell  limply. 

Going  to  the  window,  Cynthia  knelt  down  and, 
resting  her  arms  upon  the  sill,  laid  her  pretty  head 
upon  them. 

She  was  never  to  be  wholly  a  child  again.  Never 
was  she  to  let  her  hair  fall  in  the  little-girl  fashion. 
Something  had  happened  to  her,  and  tracing  the 
something  back  she  realized  that  it  had  been  done 
when  Sandy  kissed  her  good-bye! 

Vivid  was  the  red  now  in  the  girl's  face.  Her 
South  had  brought  the  bloom  forth  early,  and  she  was 
unprepared  and  unlearned  in  its  demands. 

"I  want  —  some  one  to  love  me!"  No  words 

formed  the  thought.  "I  want "  Then  all  the  ties 

of  her  barren  young  life  were  reviewed  and  found 
inadequate.  Presently  the  yearning  eyes  rested 
upon  the  old  painting  of  Queenie  Walden.  It  was  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  93 

miserable  piece  of  work;  an  indefinite  likeness,  but 
it  held  the  gaze  and  the  fancy  of  the  girl  upon  the 
floor.  "I  want  —  my  mother!"  The  hunger  and 
longing  brought  fresh  tears  to  the  aching  eyes. 
"Mother ! "  She  had  always  known  the  relationship, 
and  had  always  guarded  it  as  a  sacred  secret.  The 
flood  of  repression  and  denial  came  in  full  force  now. 

"  I  want  to  know  all  1 "  That  was  the  demand,  and 
straightway  Cynthia  sprang  to  her  feet  and  ran  from 
the  room.  She  was  still  running  when  she  came  into 
Ann  Walden's  presence. 

"What's  the  matter,  Cynthia?" 

"Aunt  Ann,  tell  me  about  my  father  and  mother!" 

The  sudden  question,  the  sight  of  the  flower- 
decked  head,  sat  Ann  Walden  into  a  trembling  fit. 
Since  the  day  of  Marcia  Lowe's  call  she  had  never 
been  the  same.  She  slept  badly,  ate  poorly,  and 
feared  greatly.  Day  after  day  she  had  expected  the 
late  visitor  to  return  or  send  a  representative.  When 
she  heard  that  the  stranger  had  gone  away  she 
breathed  more  freely  for  the  respite,  but  dreaded  the 
reason  for  the  going.  She  had  passed  through  such 
torture  as  she  had  never  known  or  undergone  before. 
Something,  unsuspected,  rose  and  reproved  her; 
pride,  self-esteem,  and  faith  had  perished  when  many 
readings  of  the  letter  had  driven  truth  home. 
Finally  nerves  refused  to  suffer  longer  and  a  kind  of 
revenge  took  its  place. 

"Very    well!"    she    had    concluded    desperately; 


94  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Queenie  and  I  will  keep  the  child  —  at  last!  You 
and  yours  shall  have  no  part  in  her  or  for  her. " 

Thus  she  had  decided  regarding  Cynthia.  She 
meant  to  break  forever  with  Theodore  Starr  and  all 
who  were  connected  with  him.  She  would  resent, 
not  only  for  herself,  but  for  the  poor  sister  who  had 
mistakenly,  and  for  love  of  her,  kept  silence  and  left 
the  memory  of  Starr  unclouded  as  the  only  gift  she 
could  give  the  woman  they  both  had  wronged ! 

Yes,  Ann  Walden  had  thought  it  all  out.  When 
Marcia  Lowe  came  again  she  would  tell  her  that  she 
believed  there  had  been  no  marriage!  That  would 
end  it.  No  proof  could  be  found  —  did  not  Ann 
Walden  know  the  shiftless  mountain  ways?  Mar 
cia  Lowe  would  never  press  dishonour  upon  them 
all  — •  and  the  money  was  no  lure  to  the  proud, 
poverty-stricken  woman.  She  meant  to  revenge 
herself  upon  Theodore  Starr  by  keeping  Cynthia 
even  at  the  price  of  proclaiming  the  girl's  dishonour 
to  Starr's  niece. 

From  much  thinking  through  wakeful  nights  and 
torturing  days  Ann  Walden  had  evolved  a  very 
sincere  hatred  and  bitter  resentment.  She  almost 
believed  that  Starr  had  betrayed  her  sister,  and  poor 
Cynthia,  who  had  always  been  a  duty  —  not  a  joy 
—  was  to  pay  the  penalty ! 

"Tell  me  about  my  father  and  mother!" 

The  strong  young  voice  repeated  the  commanding 
words;  the  lovely  flower-twined  head  bent  forward. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  95 

There  was  no  wise  person  to  note  and  take  warning 
of  the  strange  light  in  Ann  Walden's  eyes  as  she 
met  the  question  put  to  her;  it  was,  however,  the 
look  of  insanity  —  the  insanity  which  feeds  upon 
hallucination;  the  kind  that  evolves  from  isolated 
repression  and  the  abnormal  introspection  of  the 
self-cultured. 

"When  you  are  older,  Cynthia." 

"No,  now,  Aunt  Ann.  I  must  know.  My"moth- 
er's  picture  hangs  in  the  library,  but  my  father's  is 
not  there  and  no  one  ever  speaks  of  my  father." 

How  could  one  fling  into  the  simple  innocence 
demanding  knowledge,  the  bare,  bold  truth?  But 
Ann  Walden,  driven  at  bay,  worn,  embittered  and 
touched  already  by  her  doom,  answered  slowly: 

"Your  —  father  was  —  a  bad  man!  that  is  why 
no  one  speaks  of  him;  why  his  picture  does  not  hang 
near  your  mother's." 

"A  bad  man?  What  did  he  do,  Aunt  Ann?"  A 
childish  fear  shook  Cynthia's  face.  Bad,  to  her,  was 
such  a  crude,  primitive  thing;  "was  he  bad  like  — 
like  the  men  here  who  drink  and  beat  their  women?" 

"Worse  than  that!" 

"Worse,  Aunt  Ann?  Did  he — beat  my  mother?" 
The  horror,  instead  of  calming  Ann  Walden,  spurred 
her  on. 

"He  — he  killed  her!" 

"Killed  her!"  And  with  that  Cynthia  dropped 
beside  her  aunt  and  clung  desperately  to  her  hand, 


96  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

which  lay  idle  in  her  lap.  "Oh!  is  —  is  —  he  dead? 
Can  he  come  to  hurt  us  ? " 

Then  Ann  Walden  laughed  such  a  laugh  as  Cyn 
thia  had  never  heard  before,  but  with  which  she  was 
to  become  familiar. 

"He's  dead.  He  cannot  hurt  us  any  more.  He 
did  his  worst  —  before  you  were  born." 

A  sigh  of  relief  escaped  the  girl  as  she  listened  and 
her  tense  face  relaxed. 

"But  we  would  not  touch  his  money,  would  we, 
Cynthia?  nor  have  anything  to  do  with  any  kin  of 
his,  would  we?" 

"No,  no,  Aunt  Ann." 

"Then "  and  now  Ann  Walden  bent  close 

and  whispered :  "then  have  nothing  to  do  with  her 
—  at  Trouble  Neck!  She  comes  with  money;  with 
a  hope  of  forgiveness  —  but  we  do  not  forgive  such 
things,  do  we,  Cynthia,  and  we  Waldens  cannot 
be  bought?" 

"No,  no!" 

"When  you  see  her,  tell  her  so!  Tell  her  to  keep 
away  —  we  do  not  believe  her;  we  do  not  want  her!" 

The  flowers  on  the  pretty  girlish  head  were  already 
wilted  in  the  heat  of  the  morning  and  something  more 
vital  and  spiritual  had  faded  and  drooped  in  Cyn 
thia  Walden's  soul.  She  looked  old  and  haggard  as 
she  rose  up  and  drew  a  long  breath  like  one  who  had 
drunk  a  deep  draught  too  hastily.  Even  the  yearn 
ing  for  love  had  departed  —  unless  God  were  good 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  97 

to  her  she  would  sink  rapidly  down,  from  now  on 
to  the  common  level. 

"I'll  tell  her,  Aunt  Ann,"  she  said  nonchalantly. 
"I'm  right  glad  you  let  me  know."  Then  she  wan 
dered  aimlessly  back  .to  the  library  and  over  to  the 
fireplace.  Dejected  and  shrinking,  she  raised  her 
eyes  humbly  to  her  "Biggest  of  Them  All"  and  deep 
in  her  soul  sank  the  truth  that  she,  Cynthia  Walden, 
once  so  gay  and  proud,  was  not  the  equal  of  Sandy 
Morley !  If  he  were  brave  and  fine  enough  he  might 
help  her  from  very  pity  —  but  if  she  were  worthy, 
she  must  not  permit  him  to  do  so. 

Then  it  was  that  the  first  wave  of  actual  soul- 
loneliness  enveloped  the  girl,  and  when  youth  recog 
nizes  such  desolation  something  overpowers  it  that 
no  older  person  can  ever  understand. 

And  that  very  afternoon  the  great  storm  came  that 
swept  away  so  much  and  opened  the  way  to  more. 

It  was  four  o'clock  on  that  same  day  that  Liza 
Hope  passed  Stoneledge  on  the  way  down  to  the 
store.  Liza  was  always  just  getting  over  having  a 
baby  or  just  about  to  have  one  and  her  condition  was 
now  of  the  latter  character.  Poor,  misshapen,  down 
trodden  creature!  She  accepted  her  fate  indiffer 
ently,  not  because  she  was  hard  or  bitter,  but  be 
cause  she  had  never  had  a  vision  of  anything  else. 

She  paused  near  the  chicken  house  where  old  Lily 
Ivy  was  hovering  over  a  belated  brood  whose  erratic 
mother  had  mistaken  the  season  of  the  year. 


98  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Howdy,  Ivy!  You-all  has  a  right  smart  lot  of 
fowls  —  but  ain't  it  a  mighty  bad  time  to  hatch?" 

"Dis  yere  hen  allus  was  a  fool  hen,"  Ivy  vouch 
safed,  "givin'  trouble  an'  agony  to  us-all." 

"Does  you-all  like  her  the  best?" 

This  question  brought  Ivy  to  her  feet  with  a 
stare. 

"The  little  doctor  she  done  say  as  how  we-all  loves 
best  the  baby-things  what  be  right  techersome. 
She  be  right,  too,  I  reckon.  Them  babies  o'mine 
what  died,  and  po'  HI'  Sammy  what  ain't  clear  in  his 
mind,  is  mighty  nigh  to  me.  I  ain't  never  thought 
'bout  sich  till  she  cum.  She  steps  up  to  my  cabin 
now  an'  again  an'  her  and  me  talks.  The  Cup-o'- 
Cold-Water  Lady  I  calls  her,  an'  nights  I  lie  an* 
think  on  her,  an'  she  comes  an'  brings  my  daid  ba 
bies  to  me  in  dreams-like,  an'  then  I  reach  out  for 
Sammy,  an'  I  feel  right  comforted." 

Ivy  came  close  to  her  caller  now  and  looked  into 
the  weary,  sunken  eyes  compassionately.  Her  con 
tempt  of  the  po'  white  trash  faded  before  the  pa 
thetic  desolateness  of  Liza's  glance. 

"Liza  Hope,"  she  said,  fixing  the  roving  stare  by 
her  tone,  "how  be  you  going  to  face  this  winter? 
You  be  as  fool-like  as  dis  yere  old  hen-hussy.  All 
your  chillens  was  born  during  respectable  times  o' 
year.  What  you-all  goin'  to  do  wid  no  wood-pile, 
no  nothin',  an'  a  baby  comin'  long  in  the  black  time 
of  winter?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  99' 

Liza  faced  her  accuser  blankly  as  if  she  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  matter. 

"I  ain't  no  wise  'sponsible,"  she  faltered;  "de 
good  Lord  He  knows  I  ain't  hankerin'  after  no  mo' 
calls  and  troubles.  But  the  Cup-o'-Water  Lady 
don'  promise  to  come  to  me  in  my  hour  an'  bide  till 
I  pass  through  my  trial.  Seems  like  I  can  bear  it 
now  when  I  think  o'  that.  Some  say  they-all  don't 
believe  her  is  kin  to  Parson  Starr  as  was,  but  I  does. 
The  Lord  He  don't  make  two  sich-like  less  He  uses 
the  same  mixin's.  I  knows,  I  do!" 

Ivy  started  back.  Oddly  enough  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  heard  the  connection  between  Starr  and 
the  newcomer.  She  had  taken  for  granted  the 
rumour  that  had  reached  her  concerning  Marcia 
Lowe,  and  she  had  disapproved  keenly  of  the  call 
that  young  woman  had  made  upon  her  mistress 
recently,  but  now,  as  Liza  spoke,  sudden  recollection 
startled  her.  If  the  stranger  were  what  Liza  sug 
gested,  why  then  Ann  Walden's  condition  might  be 
accounted  for!  The  surprise  of  this  new  thought 
turned  Ivy  giddy,  but  it  also  caused  her  to  change 
the  subject  of  conversation. 

"When  yo'  come  back  from  de  sto',"  she  said 
with  frigid  dignity,  "stop  to  de'  rear  do'.  I  has 
some  corn  bread  an'  bacon  what  you  can  carry  'long 
wid  yo',  an'  an  ole  ironin'  blanket  fo'  coverin'. " 

Liza  muttered  her  thanks  and  shuffled  on,  her 
distorted  figure  casting  a  weird  shadow  as  the 


ioo  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

blazing  sun  struck  across  her  path  as  she  entered 
The  Way. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  the  reddish  sunlight 
suddenly  was  blotted  out  by  a  huge  black  cloud. 
An  ominous  hush  came  with  the  shadows,  and  with 
instinctive  fear  and  caution  Ann  Walden,  in  the 
living-room,  closed  the  windows  and  doors.  Cyn 
thia,  who  was  passing  through  the  hall,  ran  upstairs 
to  do  the  same,  and  then  returned  and  stood  listlessly 
by  her  aunt  near  the  window  looking  out  over  the 
garden  place,  the  little  brook,  which  divided  it  from 
the  pasture  lot  below,  and  the  two  cows  huddling 
under  a  clump  of  trees  beside  the  tiny  bridge  which 
spanned  the  stream. 

"I  —  don't  like  the  look  of  the  sky,"  Ann  Walden 
murmured;  "I  reckon  it's  going  to  be  a  mighty  bad 
storm.  Seems  like  the  seasons  get  twisted  these-er- 
days.  Now  if  it  was  spring  -  She  did  not 

finish  her  sentence,  for  a  wave  of  wind  brought  the 
lagging  storm  on  its  breast;  a  blinding  flash  of  light 
ning  and  a  crash  of  thunder  set  it  free  and  then  the 
deluge  descended.  A  wall,  seemingly  tangible,  de 
scended  from  the  clouds  to  the  earth  —  everything 
was  blotted  out. 

"Good  Lord-a'mighty!"  Ivy  dashed  in  from  the 
kitchen,  a  grayness  showing  through  the  blade  of  her 
skin;  "I  mus'  save  dem  cows.  I  jes'  mus'  —  God 
help  me!"  She  ran  through  the  room  to  the  front 
hall,  pulling  her  skirt  over  her  head  as  she  ran. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  101 

"Ivy,  I  forbid  you  leaving  the  house!" 

The  black  woman  paused,  for  even  in  that  moment 
of  excitement  tradition  held  her  —  the  servant  was 
stopped  by  the  mistress'  voice,  but  too  long  had  Ivy 
stood  for  higher  things  to  renounce  them  now.  She 
had  stood  between  her  loved  ones  and  starvation; 
she  had  always  kept  the  worst  from  them  and  she 
must  continue  to  do  so. 

"Miss  Ann,  honey,"  she  said  in  her  soft,  old  drawl, 
"dem  cattle  down  by  de  Branch  is  all  that  Stan's 
'twixt  us-all  and  we-all  becoming  white  trash!  I  jis' 
got-ter  go,  chile!" 

Then  before  Ann  Walden  could  speak  again  the 
woman  was  gone!  They  watched  her  beating  her 
\vay  through  the  wall  of  rain,  without  speaking;  with 
every  emotion  gripped  and  silenced  by  fear  and 
horror  the  two  at  the  living-room  window  waited. 
They  saw  her  reach  the  little  foot-bridge;  they  saw 
her  pause  and  hold  to  the  railing  as  if  for  breath  and 
then  —  there  was  nothing!  The  place  where  old  Ivy 
had  stood  was  empty.  The  cows,  too,  were  going 
fast  and  helplessly  away  on  a  sea  of  troubled  water. 

Shock  numbs  the  brain  and  stays  suffering,  but 
presently,  like  a  frightened  child  rousing  from  sleep, 
Ann  Walden  turned  to  Cynthia. 

"Ivy,"  she  panted.     "Ivy,  where  is  she?" 

Cynthia  could  not  answer.  She  tried,  but  speech 
failed  her.  With  large,  fixed  eyes  she  continued  to 
Rtare  at  the  blank  space  where  once  the  little  bridge 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

had  stood.  What  had  happened  was  too  awful  for 
her  comprehension.  Then  in  the  drear  dimness  of 
the  room  a  hideous  laugh  rang  out. 

"Don't!  don't,  Aunt  Ann!"  Words  came  des 
perately  now  to  the  child;  "oh!  I'm  so  afraid!" 

But  again  and  again  the  laugh  sounded. 

"We-all  are  poor  white  trash!  poor  white  trash! 
ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Cynthia  shrank  from  Ann  Walden.  What  had 
happened  she  could  not  know,  but  of  a  sudden  the 
old  woman  became  a  stranger,  a  stranger  to  be  cared 
for  and  guarded  —  one  to  defend. 

"Come,"  whispered  Cynthia,  "come  away  — 
dear — it's  all  right!  Come,  come!" 

Alternately  laughing  and  sobbing,  Ann  Walden  fol 
lowed  the  guiding  of  the  hand  upon  her  arm;  she 
permitted  herself  to  be  placed  on  the  ragged  sofa  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

"Poor  white  trash!" 

And  there  Tod  Greeley  and  Liza  Hope  found  them 
hours  after.  Cynthia,  beside  the  prostrate  woman, 
was  crooning  as  to  a  baby,  and  over  and  over  the 
desperate  old  voice  wailed: 

"We-all  are  poor  white  trash!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHEN  Sandy  had  departed  down  The  Way 
he  felt  weak  and  stricken.  All  the  fer 
vour  and  exhilaration  were  gone;  there 
was  no  turning  back,  and  he  could  not  stand  still. 
The  walk  to  The  Forge  could  easily  be  made  before 
morning,  with  time  to  sleep  on  the  way,  so  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  forget  his  misery  and  travel  on. 
The  storm,  too,  emphasized  the  necessity  for  this. 
On  beyond  there  was  a  deserted  cabin  by  the  trail; 
he  could  sleep  there  in  comparative  comfort;  under 
the  falling  roof  there  surely  must  be  one  dry  spot 
large  enough  to  shelter  a  thin,  tired  boy. 

A  crash  of  thunder  caused  Sandy  to  rush  forward. 
He  had  the  childish  fear  that  many  country  children 
have  of  the  extremes  of  Nature,  and  superstition 
swayed  his  every  thought.  Gathering  his  loose 
coat  about  him  and  clutching  his  money  close,  he 
made  for  The  Way,  and  ran  with  all  the  strength 
remaining  in  him,  for  the  deserted  cabin. 

Flash  and  splintering  noise  surrounded  him.  His 
eyes  were  blinded  by  the  blue-red  lightning;  his 
ears  were  aching  from  the  thunder's  shock.  Once  he 
stood  still,  unable  to  suffer  longer  —  for  his  nerves 
were  paralyzed  with  fear,  and  at  that  pause  a  fork 

103 


104  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

of-  vivid  flame  darted  from  the  blackness  and  ran 
like  the  finger  of  a  maniac  down  the  side  of  a  tall  tree. 
The  stroke  was  so  near  that  the  boy  did  not  heed  the 
crash  that  followed  immediately;  he  saw  the  wood 
and  earth  fly  and  he  shuddered  as  he  looked.  That 
was  the  bolt  that  ended  the  life  of  Jim  the  negro, 
but  Sandy  never  knew. 

In  unconsciousness  the  boy  waited  for,  he  knew  not 
what!  He  was  dead,  yet  alive,  unable  to  move  or 
feel,  yet  standing  and  seeing.  Then  his  blood  began 
to  flow  once  more,  and  sinking  to  his  knees  he  wept 
as  he  had  not  since  the  night  when  Mary  drove  him 
from  the  cabin  to  the  shed  to  sleep !  Wet  and  trem 
bling,  he  finally  found  strength  and  courage  to  go  on, 
but  a  loneliness  of  soul  and  mind  almost  overcame 
him.  He  raised  his  aching  eyes  and  saw  the  clouds 
parting;  he  heard  the  rising  wind  complaining  in  the 
tall  trees  and  shaking  the  water  down  upon  him. 
At  that  moment  a  star  broke  through  the  scudding 
masses  of  rolling  blackness  —  one  kindly  eye  of  light, 
and  at  the  same  instant  something  touched  his  body 
with  thrilling  familiarity.  He  groped  and  felt  in 
the  lower  darkness,  then  —  because  he  had  never 
been  taught  to  pray  —  Sandy  Morley  bent  his  head 
over  the  wet  and  shaggy  body  of  Bob,  the  collie,  and 
laughed  and  sobbed  from  sheer  gratitude  and  joy! 

Stealthily  the  faithful  creature  had  followed  his 
friend.  Life  had  taught  him,  even  in  his  puppy  days, 
to  curb  his  inclinations.  Where  Sandy  was,  there 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  105 

was  always  happiness,  but  it  was  generally  seasoned 
with  danger,  and  Bob  took  no  chances. 

"Good  dog!  dear  old  fellow!" 

Bob  licked  the  caressing  hands  fondly.  Never 
before  had  such  appreciation  been  shown  him  even  by 
the  one  who  was  lavishly  bestowing  it  now;  Bob  did 
not  seek  to  understand,  he  merely  accepted  and  snug 
gled  closer. 

Sandy  knew  a  later  parting  with  the  dog  was  in 
evitable,  but  human  nature  could  not  contemplate  it 
then,  so  he  bade  Bob  follow  on  and,  with  regained 
courage  and  determination,  the  two  plodded  down 
The  Appointed  Way  with  firmer  tread.  The  shed 
was  reached,  and  nestling  close  in  a  protected  corner, 
they  slept  for  several  hours  with  no  dream  to  disturb 
or  frighten  them.  The  storm  passed;  the  stars  shone 
out,  and  a  new  moon  crept  up  from  the  east.  At  four 
o'clock  Sandy  started  up  and  began  the  readjust 
ment  of  life.  Bob  was  lying  across  his  legs  and 
breathing  evenly.  The  warmth  had  been  grateful 
even  if  the  weight  had  been  a  burden,  and  a  sense  of 
joy  flooded  the  boy  as  he  patted  the  dear,  faithful 
head. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  two  were  again  on  the 
road.  Breakfast  would  have  been  acceptable,  but 
both  boy  and  dog  had  learned  that  food  was  not  a 
vital  necessity  for  the  day's  beginning.  A  cup  of 
warming  fluid  would  have  set  Sandy  up  wonderfully, 
for  his  throat  was  sore  and  his  bones  ached,  but  The 


io6  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Forge  was  not  a  great  distance  away  and  it  was  a 
new  sensation  to  have  a  pocket  full  of  money. 

"Bob,  when  we  get  there  you  and  I  will  fill  up  — 
I  swear  it,  Bob!"' 

The  collie  resented  the  oath.  He  was  willing  to 
share  and  share  alike,  and  between  friends  surely 
there  was  no  need  for  such  emphasis. 

A  soaked  wood  road  on  an  early  August  morning 
is  not  a  cheering  place,  and  the  travellers  plodded  on 
with  weakening  limbs  and  heavy  hearts.  Sandy 
comforted  himself  by  the  thought  that  food  would  set 
him  up,  but  as  he  thought  this  his  stomach  rejected 
the  idea  with  sickening  insistence.  The  more  he 
thought  of  food  the  more  his  head  ached  and  his 
throat  throbbed.  Bob,  unhampered  by  physical 
claims,  jogged  along  cheerfully.  He  was  used  to 
hope  deferred,  and  he  was  appreciative  of  the  com 
pany  he  was  in,  and  the  absence  of  rough  words  and 
well-aimed  kicks  and  blows. 

The  few  miles  of  The  Way  seemed  doubled  on  the 
moist  August  morning;  the  rising  sun  merely  drew 
more  dampness  from  the  sodden  earth;  it  did  not  dry 
it;  but  at  last  Sandy  saw  the  opening  ahead  which 
marked  the  clearing  around  Smith  Crothers'  factory, 
he  heard  the  buzzing  and  warning  of  machinery  — 
at  first  he  thought  it  was  the  strange  sensation  that 
was  gaining  force  in  his  head,  but  presently  he 
righted  things  and  plucked  up  courage.  Two  miles 
beyond  the  factory:  two  miles  of  lighter  woodland 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  107  ' 

and   then   the  sharp  little  hill  at  whose  foot  The 
Forge  lay! 

A  busy  day  lay  before  Sandy.  He  must  eat- 
the  thought  now  was  positive  agony  —  buy  some 
necessary  clothing  and  get  into  touch  with  some  in 
spired  fellow  creature  who  could  give  him  informa 
tion  about  Massachusetts.  Over  and  over  Sandy 
repeated  the  magic  word.  For  nearly  a  year  it  had 
lain  dormant  in  his  consciousness.  It  was  his  earthly 
heaven;  the  paradise  of  his  longings  and  desires,  but 
now  it  had  suddenly  taken  on  earthly  meaning  and 
proportions.  How  was  he  to  get  there?  Had  he 
money  enough  to  carry  him  to  that  wonderland 
where  one  could  exchange  work  for  an  education? 

So  absorbed  was  the  half-sick  boy  with  the  prob 
lem  of  his  near  future  that  he  passed  Crothers' 
factory  unheedingly,  and  was  well  down  the  last 
sharp  little  hill  before  he  realized  it.  A  fever  was 
gaining  control  over  him  and  making  him  light 
headed  and  care-free.  Massachusetts  lost  its 
agonizing  doubts  —  everything  appeared  to  be 
coming  to  him;  even  the  inevitable  parting  with 
Bob  became  vague  and  blurred.  Why  not  take 
Bob  along  with  him  ?  Why  not,  indeed  ? 

And  so  boy  and  dog,  muddy  and  fagged,  came  to 
the  end  of  the  hill,  to  the  edge  of  the  town  and  the 
first  house,  known  as  Stagg's  Place,  where  room  and 
board  could  be  obtained  for  a  consideration ! 

Sandy,  with  that  growing  nausea,  made  his  way 


io8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

toward  it,  and  Bob,  with  his  sixth  sense  serving  him 
well,  pricked  up  his  ears,  put  on  more  style  of  carriage 
and  estimated  his  chances  at  the  back  door.  But  at 
that  critical  moment  an  excited  old  gentleman 
dashed  out  of  Stagg's  Place  and  gripping  a  walking 
stick  madly  waved  it  on  high.  Spying  Sandy  he 
sensed  probable  help. 

"Boy!"  he  shouted  lustily,  "stop  that  man! 
It's  —  it's  life  or  death.  Stop  him!  Send  him  back 
and  I'll  give  you  a  dollar. " 

Sandy  rallied  his  last  remnants  of  strength  and 
turned  about.  Off  in  the  distance  he  saw  the 
mounted  postman  jogging  on  his  way  toward  the 
village  and  he  dashed  ahead !  Bob,  with  his  smoulder 
ing  puppy  nature  coming  unexpectedly  to  his  help, 
scampered  on,  crazily  barking  and  yelping  as  he  had 
never  permitted  himself  to  do  in  the  guarded  past. 

The  postman,  at  last,  heard  the  commotion  and 
stopped  short. 

"You  are  to  go  back!"  Sandy  panted;  "it's  life 
or— death." 

The  horse  was  turned  about  and  in  the  mud  raised 
by  the  retreating  hoofs  the  boy  and  dog  followed 
wearily. 

Whatever  the  matter  was  that  had  caused  the 
confusion,  it  was  adjusted  by  the  time  Sandy  again 
reached  the  house.  The  old  gentleman,  muttering 
about  a  weak  leg  and  a  degenerate  rascal,  was  sitting 
on  the  piazza  fanning  himself  with  a  panama  hat, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  109 

while  a  thin,  eager-eyed  woman  urged  him  to  calm 
himself  before  worse  harm  was  done. 

:'The  Lord  will  provide,  Levi,"  she  was  saying,  as 
Sandy  and  his  dog  approached.  "His  ways  are  not 
our  ways,  but  we  might  as  well  give  credit  where 
credit  is  due.  His  leadings  are  generally  clearer 
sighted  than  ours  be,  having  —  as  you  might  say  - 
wider  scope  to  scan."  Then  she  glanced  at  the 
dirty,  worn  pair  on  the  steps. 

"Shoo!"  she  ejaculated,  but  neither  dog  nor  boy 
stirred. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  next  asked. 

"What  —  he  said  he  would  —  give!"  and  then  to 
complicate  matters  Sandy  rolled  over  in  a  huddled 
heap  and  fainted  dead  away!  Bob,  bereft  and  fright 
ened,  hovered  over  him,  emitting  yelps  and  howls 
that  shattered  the  summer  calm. 

The  Markhams  only  took  their  meals  at  Stagg's 
Place;  a  small  cottage  near  by  was  their  lodging 
rooms,  and  to  that  Levi  Markham  ordered  two  col 
oured  boys  to  carry  the  prostrate  Sandy. 

An  hour  later  Matilda  Markham  sat  beside  the 
couch  in  the  shaded  living-room  and  looked  thought 
fully  upon  the  form  stretched  thereon.  From  out 
side  the  voice  of  her  brother  came  appealing  to  all 
that  was  reasonable  and  sensible  in  Bob. 

"Of  course  you  can  see  your  master,  my  good 
fellow.  Just  be  patient,  patient!" 

Levi  Markham  liked  all  animals,  and  something 


i io  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

about  Bob's  rugged  ugliness  and  faithfulness  called 
forth  his  admiration  and  sympathy. 

"Come,  come,  old  fellow,  eat  and  drink.  He's 
safe  enough  inside.  You  know  well,  you  rascal, 
that  he  is  inside!" 

Bob  blinked  confidingly,  but  he  would  not  touch 
the  food  which  stood  alluringly  near  at  hand  in  a 
shining  tin  plate. 

Sandy  had  recovered  from  his  faint,  but  he  was 
strangely  weak  and  an  inner  stillness  bound  him 
speechless  and  immovable.  He  lay  there  —  think 
ing,  thinking!  He  knew  a  woman  was  beside  him 
watching  his  every  breath;  he  heard  Bob  outside  and 
the  sternly  kind  voice  talking  to  him.  But  nothing 
mattered.  Yes,  one  thing  did  matter.  The  money 
was  in  his  pocket  and  Massachusetts  was  still  in  the 
near  future! 

Miss  Matilda,  by  the  process  known  only  to  her 
sex,  had  labelled  and  classified  the  boy  on  the  sofa. 

"He's  what  these  shiftless  negroes  call  quality," 
she  pondered.  "Filthy  and  worn  to  the  bone  as  he 
is  —  he  is  quality  or  I  miss  my  guess !  Now  what  on 
earth  has  brought  him  to  this  pass?" 

The  lids  were  drawn  close  over  Sandy's  eyes;  his 
thin  face  was  pinched  and  wan,  and  the  tan  had 
faded  mysteriously  from  the  smooth  skin.  A 
dignity  rested  on  brow  and  mouth,  and  the  work- 
stained,  folded  hands  were  delicate  and  full  of  charac 
ter.  Sandford  Morley  had  come  to  the  parting  of 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  m 

the  ways  and  he  had  resigned  himself  to  the  inevit 
able.  His  helplessness  put  forth  an  appeal  that 
reached  through  his  sordid  misery  to  the  emotions 
of  Matilda  Markham.  She  adored  boys  —  they 
were  her  one  enthusiasm  but,  like  her  brother,  the 
more  she  felt  the  less  she  permitted  herself  to  show. 
"She  knew  her  duty"  —  none  better;  "but  she  did 
not  intend  to  have  her  feelings  joggled  in  the  broad 
light  of  day  for  curious  folks  to  witness!" 

So  she  watched  Sandy  now  with  her  heart  painfully 
in  evidence. 

"There's  a  bruise  on  his  left  cheek,"  mused  Miss 
Matilda;  "like  as  not  he  hit  it  against  something." 
It  was  the  effect  of  the  last  blow  Mary  Morley  was 
ever  to  deal  him,  but  of  course  the  watcher  in  the 
orderly  cottage  could  not  imagine  so  outrageous  a 
thing  as  that. 

"He's  got  real  nice  hair  if  it  wasn't  so  matted.  I 
daresay  it  would  curl  if  it  had  half  a  chance."  Jus 
tice  called  for  pity  and  protection,  and  while  waiting 
to  see  what  was  best  to  do  next,  Matilda  heeded 
inspiration. 

"You  awake?"  she  whispered.  Sandy  gave  a 
weak  nod.  "Want  something  to  eat?  No?  A  drink 
of  water,  maybe?  No?  Very  well,  lie  still  and  drop 
off  to  sleep  again.  You'll  feel  better  presently,  and 
can  tell  us  about  yourself,  then  brother  will  send  you 
home." 

The  room  was  dim,  but  Matilda's  eyes  were  keen, 


ii2  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

and  she  saw  two  large  tears  roll  from  under  the  closed 
lids  and  down  upon  the  thin  cheeks.  Because  of 
her  understanding  of  boys,  Matilda  did  not  interfere 
with  those  mute  tokens  of  weak  surrender.  Better 
the  traces  on  the  dirty  skin  than  a  later  misunder 
standing,  but  as  the  tears  took  their  way  a  childless 
woman's  pity  and  tenderness  was  following  them 
mutely. 

"You  can't  sleep?  Well  now,  never  mind.  Just 
don't  fuss."  Then  inspiration  came  again. 

"Maybe  you'd  like  to  see  your  dog,  he's  just  out 
side.  He  won't  eat  or  drink  and  his  nose  is  ever 
lastingly  pointed  to  the  door." 

At  this  Sandy's  eyes  opened  so  suddenly  and  so 
wide  that  Matilda  Markham  started.  She  had 
never  seen  such  large  eyes  in  any  human  boy's  face 
and  they  were  such  strange,  yearning  eyes. 

"You  do  want  your  dog?" 

"Yes,  ma'am!  oh,  yes!" 

Without  a  word  more,  Matilda  strode  to  the  door. 

"Brother,"  she  said;  "we  want  that  dog  here!" 

Bob  leaped  up  and  followed  his  instincts.  He  made 
no  noise  or  cry,  he  simply  went  to  the  low  couch,  and 
snuggled  his  rough  head  against  the  shoulder 
pressed  on  the  pillow. 

Matilda  Markham  could  not  bear  the  sight.  It 
made  her  afraid  of  herself.  Her  brother,  above  all 
people,  must  not  think  her  emotional.  She  knew 
what  he  thought  of  emotional  women  —  he  not  only 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  113 

believed  them  incapable,  but  he  mistrusted  their 
moral  natures.  She  walked  out  to  the  porch  and 
sat  grimly  down  in  a  rocker  and  swayed  back  and 
forth  energetically. 

"It's  real  hot,"  she  vouchsafed  presently.  "This 
is  a  terrible  shut-in  place.  I  haven't  any  use  for 
mountains  unless  you  can  get  on  the  toppest  peak. " 

"Has  that  boy  explained  himself?"  asked  Levi 
Markham,  also  swaying  to  and  fro  in  his  rocker. 
Matilda  shook  her  head. 

"What  do  you  think  we  ought  to  do?  I've  been 
inquiring  a  bit  and  I  find  there  is  no  police  station 
nor  hospital  nearer  than  twenty-five  miles.  I  asked 
the  man  at  Stagg's  what  they  did  when  men  were 
injured  in  the  factory,  and  he  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
thought  I  was  a  fool!  'They  don't  do  anything 
to  them,'  he  confided.  It's  an  evil  hole,  Matilda. 
I  never  saw  a  place  in  my  life  that  needed  capital 
and  human  intelligence  more.  And  what  about 
this  boy?  He  must  belong  somewhere,  I  suppose." 

"I  think  he's  pretty  sick,  brother;  I  guess  we'll 
have  to  turn  to  and  supply  what  the  town  lacks  in 
ambulances  and  hospitals.  He's  burning  up  with 
fever,  and  he  has  a  real  wild  light  in  his  eyes." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Matilda?" 

"Well,  brother,  not  to  mince  matters,  I  think  if 
you  undress  him  I'll  turn  to  and  clean  him  up  some. 
After  that  we'll  put  him  to  bed  in  the  little  room  off 
the  dining-room  and  send  for  a  doctor.  I  suppose 


u4  -A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

they  have  a  doctor  somewhere  around  here,  haven't 
they?" 

Levi  puckered  up  his  lips  and  frowned. 

"I've  questioned  about  that,  too,"  he  admitted. 
"There  is  a  doctor  —  goes  horseback  with  saddle 
bags  and  medicine  chest  on  a  circuit  covering  acres 
and  acres.  Kind  of  a  medical  bully;  brings  people 
into  the  world  and  hustles  them  out.  Doses  and 
cuts  them  according  to  his  lights.  He's  off  on  a 
stabbing  case  back  among  the  hills  —  some  still, 
they  say,  has  let  itself  loose.  He  will  be  back  when 
he  patches  up  the  worst  and  turns  the  rest  over  to 
the  authorities.  Matilda!" 

Miss  Markham  started. 

"Yes,  brother." 

"I  don't  want  any  one  to  see  or  know  about  that 
boy  until  after  we've  seen  the  doctor.  He  looks 
badly  used  and  starved  to  me,  and  I  never  turn  a 
dumb  brute  off  when  its  luck  is  against  it,  until  I 
know  what  I'm  turning  it  to.  You  get  a  tub  of  hot 
water  ready  and  I'll  tackle  the  Jad  now. " 

It  was  seven  that  evening  when  the  doctor  re 
turned  from  the  hills  and  was  told  the  "folks  from 
the  North"  wanted  to  see  him.  He  did  not  hurry 
himself.  He  rested,  ate,  and  changed  his  clothes 
and  then  sauntered  down  the  road  to  the  cottage. 
Sandy,  the  worst  of  him,  as  Matilda  explained,  lay  in 
a  comatose  state  on  the  narrow,  immaculate  bed  with 
Bob,  now  fed  and  comforted,  on  the  floor  beside  him. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  115 

"That's  Morley's  boy  from  Lost  Hollow,"  the 
doctor  drawled,  as  he  gazed  upon  the  restless  form. 
"At  first  I  wasn't  sure.  I  never  saw  him  clean 
before.  As  I  passed  through  The  Hollow  to-day 
Morley  came  out  and  told  me  the  news.  The  boy's 
left  home;  he's  going  to  get  an  education  somehow  — 
the  father  said  he  had  saved  money." 

"There's  nearly  thirty-one  dollars  in  his  pants' 
pocket,"  Matilda  broke  in  accurately. 

"He  comes  of  good  stock  back  about  the  time 
of  the  Revolution.  Running  to  seed  since.  It's 
mighty  odd  how  blood  bursts  out  now  and  again. 
This  fellow's  mother  came  from  The  Forge  —  a 
pretty  creature  —  died  when  he  was  born.  Took 
me  thirty-six  hours  to  bring  him  into  life  —  but  I 
couldn't  save  the  mother.  The  father  is  a  degen 
erate  —  the  only  sign  of  decency  I  ever  noticed  in  him 
is  his  thought  about  this  boy.  Looks  like  a  tussle 
for  Sandy  Morley  now,  I  reckon.  What  you  want 
to  do  about  it?  If  he  lives,  which  he  likely  enough 
won't,  he's  going  to  be  a  right  smart  bit  of  care. " 

Levi  looked  at  Matilda  and  Matilda  looked  at 
Levi,  and  then  they  both  looked  at  Sandy.  "Massa 
chusetts!"  moaned  the  boy,  tossing  about  restlessly 
—  "I'm  going  to  get  there,  I  tell  you!  Mass  — 
massa  —  chu  -  -  "  The  voice  trailed  off  miserably 
and  Bob  was  alert  at  once. 

"  I  never  cast  a  beast  out "  began  Levi. 

"Not  to  mention  a  human  boy,"  added  Matilda. 


ii6  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"We're  going  to  see  him  through  or — out,  doctor." 

The  impassive  face  of  the  doctor  gave  no  intima 
tion  as  to  his  emotions.  He  took  out  his  medicine 
bottles  and  forthwith  began  to  complicate  Sandy's 
chances  in  the  hand-to-hand  struggle. 

An  old  black  woman,  famed  for  her  charms  and 
nursing,  was  secured  by  Matilda  Markham  to  assist 
in  the  care  of  Sandy  Morley. 

"I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  the  witch,"  Matilda 
warned  her  brother,  "but  she  has  a  sense  about  nurs 
ing  that  can  be  relied  upon. " 

And  so  the  battle  was  on.  Gossip  about  the  boy 
was  killed  at  the  bedroom  door.  No  one  became 
interested  or  cared.  The  doctor,  after  a  week  or 
two,  chancing  upon  Martin  Morley  on  The  Way, 
told  him  of  Sandy's  good  fortune. 

"  Morley,  if  there's  a  bit  of  the  man  in  you,"  he 
advised,  "  let  go  that  boy  and  leave  him  to  his  oppor 
tunity.  You've  almost  killed  him,  body  and  soul, 
among  you,  now;  whether  it  be  life  or  death,  let 
him  have  a  try  for  the  ctean  thing.  It's  all  you  can 
do  for  him  —  forget  him!" 

And  Martin,  with  bowed  head,  acquiesced. 

"If  he  dies "  he  faltered. 

"I'll  let  you  know,"  the  doctor  replied. 

But  Morley  never  heard  of  Sandy's  death  and 
the  summer  merged  into  autumn,  and  the  cold  and 
shadow  settled  upon  The  Hollow.  When  winter 
drove  the  mountain  folks  indoors  to  closer  contact, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  117 

bad  air  and  poor  food,  it  drove  the  devil  in  with 
them  and  hard  times  followed.  But  before  the 
grip  of  winter  clutched  the  hills,  Sandy  decided 
that  in  spite  of  the  odds  against  him  he  would 
make  another  attempt  to  reach  Massachusetts. 

A  mere  shadow  of  a  boy  was  he  when,  in  late  Sep 
tember,  Matilda  Markham  got  him  out  on  the 
piazza,  one  morning  and,  having  tucked  him  up  well 
in  blankets,  remarked  enlighteningly,  "There!" 

All  the  fineness  in  Sandy  had  been  emphasized 
during  the  weeks  of  sickness.  As  the  bad  food,  the 
bruises  and  tan  had  disappeared  —  and  what  little 
flesh  which  his  poor  body  possessed  —  the  native 
delicacy  and  dignity  grew  and  grew. 

The  people  of  The  Forge,  taking  small  interest  in 
the  Mountain  Whites,  for  whom  they  had  a  con 
tempt,  merely  relegated  Sandy  to  "Luck  with  the 
Yankee  who  was  dickering  about  a  factory  site." 

As  for  Sandy  himself  he  had  wandered  too  near  the 
perilous  edge  of  things  to  be  very  keen  as  to  his  pres 
ent  and  future.  Often  he  lay  with  closed  eyes  and 
thought  back  to  Lost  Hollow.  The  actual  distance 
between  him  and  the  only  home  he  had  ever  known 
was  short  but,  to  a  community  that  spoke  of  Sheri 
dan's  Ride  as  if  it  had  occurred  but  the  day  before, 
and  which  slunk  and  shrank  from  moving  out  of  its 
shadows,  The  Forge  was  a  "  right  smart  way  off"  and, 
besides,  no  one  but  Martin  knew  of  the  circum 
stances  surrounding  Sandy;  and  Martin,  to  the  best 


u8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  his  ability,  was  doing  the  only  thing  he  could  do 
for  his  boy.  Often  on  the  long  weary  tramps  in  the 
woods  he  yearned  to  get  a  glimpse  of  things,  but  the 
rough  doctor's  warnings  and  suggestions  held  him 
back. 

"Mart  Morley,  keep  your  clutches  off  that  lad. 
You've  nearly  put  an  end  to  him.  Give  others  a 
try  now." 

So  with  a  courage  and  self-denial  no  one  knew  or 
suspected,  Martin  kept  to  the  hills  and  made  ready 
for  winter  as  best  he  could.  He  and  Molly,  when 
the  mood  seized  her,  gathered  wood  and  piled  it 
carelessly  by  the  cabin  door.  It  seemed  a  goodly 
pile  while  the  days  were  still  warm  and  fine,  but 
Martin,  with  a  groan,  realized  how  small  the  accu 
mulation  really  was  with  the  long,  black  months  ly 
ing  before. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  warm  sun  of  September  brought  a  faint 
tinge  to  Sandy's  hollow  cheeks.  After 
Matilda's  "There!"  the  boy  had  leaned  his 
head  back  on  the  pillow  of  his  couch  and  closed  his 
eyes.  Bob,  sleek  and  well-conditioned,  lay  at  his  feet, 
starting  now  and  then  as  he  dreamed  of  other  days 
rich  in  kicks  and  blows,  and  lean  as  to  platters  of 
nourishing  food. 

"Sleeping?"  asked  Levi,  coming  on  the  porch  with 
the  mail  and  whispering  to  his  sister. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"He  looks "  But  Matilda  shook  her  head 

at  Levi  and  cut  the  words  short.  To  express  an 
opinion  about  Sandy's  appearance  at  that  moment 
would  not  do  —  it  were  best  passed  over  lightly. 
Levi  took  a  chair,  drew  it  up  close  to  his  sister,  and 
left  Sandy  and  Bob  free  to  compare,  in  dreams, 
the  Then  and  Now  of  Life. 

"It  was  no  use,"  Markham  whispered.  "I  might 
just  as  well  have  let  the  letter  go  that  day  he"  — 
Levi  nodded  toward  Sandy  — •  "  made  his  entrance 
on  the  scene.  They  won't  accept  my  terms.  I  wish 
now  I  had  let  them  know  how  I  felt  when  my  blood 
was  up." 

IIQ 


120  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Life's  too  short  for  that,  brother.  Up  or  down, 
blood  hampers  when  it's  hot.  Common  sense  is 
always  best.  What  does  the  letter  say?" 

"The  Treadwell  woman  won't  lose  her  hold  on 
Lansing:  not  even  for  four  years!" 

Matilda's  eyes  dropped  and  she  kept  silent. 

"She's  about  ruined  him,"  Levi  went  on.  "I  put 
it  to  her  plain  and  solemn,  but  she  always  slips 
through  argument  like  a  greased  snake.  Said  I  — • 
let  me  have  his  next  four  years.  I'll  put  him  through 
college,  give  him  work  in  the  mills  during  the  sum 
mer,  and  when  he  graduates  I'll  give  him  a  choice 
of  taking  over  the  business  or  following  a  profession. 
The  knowledge  of  business  and  some  honest,  hard 
work  would  bring  the  scamp's  tone  up.  He's 
flabby  now;  flabby  as  his  father  before  him." 

"And  she  —  says?" 

Levi  turned  to  the  letter. 

"She  says  she  will  not  consider  the  plan  for  a 
moment,  but  she  says  she  will  not  mention  it  to  Lan 
sing,  and  when  I  return  he  may  choose  for  himself. 
I  really  thought  the  Treadwell  woman  would  reckon 
with  the  money  and  not  be  so  independent!" 

"It's  to  her  credit,"  Matilda  murmured. 

"Oh!  doubtless  she  thinks  when  I  have  it  out  with 
the  boy  I'll  change  my  mind.  She'll  find  the  con 
trary.  It's  come  to  the  last  ditch  now.  I'm  not 
going  to  have  any  repetition  of  —  the  past  with  my 
money  backing  it!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  121 

Again  a  long  silence  while  Sandy  apparently  slept, 
and  Bob  twitched  and  grunted.  Then: 

"Matilda,  we  must  return  to  Massachusetts. 
How  soon  can  we  go?" 

Suddenly  Sandy  started  up  and  leaned  forward. 
His  eyes  were  the  one  prominent  feature  in  his  face, 
and  they  were  now  hungry  and  anxious. 

"Massachusetts?"  he  whispered  in  the  weak, 
hoarse  voice  of  the  convalescent;  "Massachusetts? 
That's  where  I'm  going;  there's  money  to  pay  my 
way,  almost,  I  reckon.  I'll  work  out  the  rest  and 
make  my  schooling,  too.  I'll  promise.  Oh!  take 
me  with  you!" 

The  agony  of  earnestness  brought  both  man  and 
woman  to  his  side. 

"Now,  now!"  commanded  Matilda,  pushing  him 
back  on  the  pillow;  "nothing  is  ever  gained  by  using 
yourself  up  in  this  shallow  fashion." 

"  But  I've  got  to  go ! "  Sandy  urged  breathlessly; "  I 
started  out  to  go.  I  saved  ever  since  I  was  seven  years 
old  to  get  away  —  and  at  last  I  fixed  on  —  Massa 
chusetts  because  they  let  you  work  for  your  learning 
there  —  and  I've  got  to  get  it  —  get  learning!" 

"Come!  come!"  Levi  asserted  himself-  "just 
you  calm  down.  But  if  it  will  ease  your  mind  any 
I'll  tell  you  this  much,  lad.  We've  got  it  all  fixed  up 
amongst  us  —  and  if  you  want  to  go  to  Massachusetts 
and  try  your  hand  at  your  luck,  you're  going  to  be 
given  an  opportunity.  Now,  let  go  that  grip  on  the 


122  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

arms  of  your  chair!  Matilda,  get  some  broth; 
get " 

But  he  stopped  short.  The  look  in  Sandy's  eyes 
held  him.  Levi  Markham  often  said  afterward  that 
the  expression  on  the  boy's  face  at  that  moment  gave 
him  a  "turn."  It  was  no  boy-look;  it  was  the  com 
mand  from  all  that  had  gone  to  the  making  of  Sandy; 
command  that  the  boy  be  dealt  fairly  with  at  last. 

"I'm  a  hard  man,  Matilda,"  Markham  said  later, 
when  Sandy  had  let  go  the  grip  of  his  chair,  taken 
kis  broth  and  fallen  exhaustedly  to  sleep;  "I'm  a  hard 
man  who  has  hewn  his  own  way  up,  but  I  hope  I'm  a 
just  man,  and  I  declare  before  God  I  wouldn't  dare 
play  unfairly  with  the  lad.  He's  not  the  first  fellow 
I've  put  upon  his  feet;  some  have  toppled  over; 
some  have  gone  ahead  of  me  and  given  me  the 
cold  shoulder  afterward  —  a  few  have  stood  by  me  in 
the  mills  —  this  youngster  shall  have  a  try  to  prove 
that  look  on  his  face. " 

So  it  was  that  ten  days  later  the  Markhams,  with 
their  "po'  white  trash,"  left  The  Forge  —  Bob 
rebelliously  struggling  in  the  baggage  car.  A  cer 
tain  piece  of  land  high  up  among  the  hills  had  been 
purchased  by  Markham  and  the  deed  rested  secure 
in  his  pocket.  He  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  if  a 
certain  fool  of  a  boy  thought  well  of  a  proposition 
to  be  made  to  him  —  there  might  be  a  future  for 
himself  and  others  later  on. 

"It's  a  great  factory  site,"  Markham  had  written 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  123 

home  to  his  lawyer;  "plenty  of  water  and  power. 
Land  as  rich  as  if  it  was  just  made,  and  labour  aching 
to  be  utilized  —  not  exploited. " 

The  journey  to  Massachusetts  was  taken  in  slow 
stages  —  Sandy  and  Bob  complicated  makers. 

"You  —  think,  sir,  my  money  will  —  hold  out?" 
Sandy  once  asked  wearily. 

"I've  been  estimating,"  Levi  thoughtfully  re 
turned;  "barring  accidents,  taking  to  cheap  hotels 
and  allowing  for  a  few  weeks'  rest  after  we  reach 
home,  the  amount  will  about  see  you  through. " 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

They  were  talking  in  Sandy's  bedroom  in  a  very 
good  hotel  in  New  York  at  that  moment. 

"You  look  pretty  spruce  to-day,  young  man." 

"I'm  feeling  right  smart,  sir.  Could  —  could  I, 
do  you  think,  write  —  two  notes?" 

This  was  such  an  unusual  request  that  Markham 
was  curious. 

"That's  easy,"  he  said;  "there's  writing  things  in 
yonder  desk.  I'll  read  the  paper  while  you  transact 
business." 

Sandy  was  strangely  sensitive  to  tones  and  ex 
pressions  and  now  he  turned  to  Markham. 

"I  want  —  my  father  to  know  I'm  all  right,  sir," 
he  said  quietly.  "If  he  knows  that  —  he  can  wait 
till  — I  go  back." 

Suddenly  the  long  stretches  on  beyond  staggered 
Sandy  and  his  thin  face  quivered. 


124  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Then — there  is Somehow  an  explanation 

seemed  imperative  to  this  man  who  was  making  life 
possible  for  him.  There  had  never  been  any  inti 
macy  before,  but  something  compelled  it  now; 
"a —  a  girl,  sir.  She  helped  me  —  earn  money. 
She's  —  different  from  me  —  she's  —  quality,  but 
she'd  like  to  know,  too." 

Levi  shifted  his  newspaper  so  that  it  walled 
Sandy's  grim  face  from  view. 

"What's  to  hinder  you  making  quality  of  your 
self?"  he  asked.  He  was  a  man  that  liked  his  bene 
ficiaries  to  succeed,  and  while  Sandy  interested 
him,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  disliked  the  boy's  humil 
ity.  There  was  something  final  and  foreordained 
about  it,  and  unless  it  were  discouraged  it  might  pre 
vent  what  Markham  was  beginning  to  very  much 
desire. 

"Quality,  sir,  is  not  made.     It  —  is!" 

Levi  grunted,  and  Bob,  paying  a  visit  to  the  room 
on  sufferance,  snarled  resentfully. 

"You  cut  that  out,  boy!"  Markham  snapped; 
"in  Yankeeland  it  doesn't  go.  Massachusetts  gives 
a  good  many  things  besides  an  education  for  good 
honest  work:  it  gives  opportunity  for  the  man  to 
grow  in  every  human  soul.  We  don't  apologize  for 
ourselves  by  digging  up  our  ancestors  —  we  only 
exhume  them  to  back  us  up.  By  the  time  you  go 
home  you  can  stand  up  to  the  best  of  them  in  your 
hills  —  if  it's  in  you  to  stand.  It  all  lies  with  you. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  125 

Now  write  your  letters  and  leave  all  foolishness  out. 
Afterward  I  have  a  plan  to  propose." 

So  Sandy  painfully  scratched  his  two  notes  off  and 
sealed  and  addressed  them.  Then  he  waited  for 
Markham's  further  notice. 

The  day  was  cool  and  fine,  but  the  heated  air  of 
the  room  made  an  open  window  necessary.  By  that 
Sandy  sat  and  looked  out  upon  the  big,  seething 
city  of  which  he  was  so  horribly  afraid.  It  smoth 
ered  and  crowded  him;  its  noises  and  smells  sickened 
him.  The  few  excursions  he  had  made  with  his  pro 
tectors  had  left  him  pale  and  panting.  He  made  no 
complaints  —  he  realized  that  he  was  on  the  wheel, 
and  must  cling  how  and  as  he  might,  but  he  shrank 
mentally  at  every  proposition  that  he  should  leave 
his  room.  The  crowds  of  people  appalled  him  and 
he  yearned  for  the  open  and  the  sight  of  a  hill.  He 
dreamed  vividly  of  Lost  Mountain,  and  he  always 
saw  it  now  enveloped  in  mist  —  a  mist  that  he  felt 
confident  would  never  again  lift  for  him.  It  was 
homesickness  in  the  wide,  spiritual  sense  that  over 
powered  Sandy  Morley  at  that  time. 

"Sandford,  are  you  strong  enough  to  talk  busi 
ness?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  reckon  I  am." 

The  quaint  politeness  of  his  protege  charmed 
Markham  by  its  contrasts  to  the  manner  of  other 
boys  with  whom  he  had  come  into  contact. 

"Sit  down,  and  take  it  easy.     Shut  the  window. 


126  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

You  never  seem  to  be  able  to  hear  when  the  sash  is 
raised." 

"Us-all's  been  used,  sir,  to  still  places." 

"Now,  then!  In  a  day  or  two  we  will  be  home, 
Sandford.  Home  in  Bretherton,  Mass.  We  can't 
offer  you  mountains  there,  but  it  is  a  good  rolling 
country  and  it's  —  quiet!  I'm  going  to  choose  a 
school  for  you  as  soon  as  I  can,  a  country  school 
where  you  can  catch  up  without  having  the  life 
nagged  out  of  you." 

"And  —  and  where  am  I  to  work  and  —  live,  sir?" 

"You'll  find  work  enough  at  the  school  for  the 
regular  terms  —  summers  you  are  going  to  stop  with 
Miss  Markham  and  me  and  I'll  set  you  to  work  in 
my  mills.  I  always  set  every  one  I  take  an  interest 
in,  to  work  in  my  mills." 

"Yes,  sir."  Sandy's  eyes  were  growing  "strange" 
again.  Markham  was  learning  to  watch  for  that 
look. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked  on  the  defensive; 
"what  you  thinking  about?" 

"Only  Smith  Crothers'  factory,  sir,  and  —  and 
the  children." 

"See  here,  Sandford;  don't  you  get  me  mixed  with 
that  -  "  he  stopped  short.  At  times  his  ability  to 
converse  with  Sandy  struck  even  him  with  wonder. 
It  was  when  he  forgot  the  poor  figure  before  him,  and 
was  held  by  the  expression  in  the  thin  face,  that  he  let 
himself  go. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  127 

"My  mills,"  he  continued  more  calmly,  "are 
places  of  preparation;  not  —  death  traps." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  It  all  depends  on  you,  Sandford.  I  made  my  way 
up  from  as  poor  a  chap  as  you  are.  I've  given  a  lift 
to  a  good  many  other  boys  because  of  the  boy  I  once 
was,  but  I  never  take  any  nonsense.  I'm  going  to  be 
fair  with  you  and  I  expect  you  to  be  fair  with  me. 
Take  things  or  leave  them  —  only  speak  out  what's, 
in  your  mind  and  act  clean.  What  I  do  for  you 
isn't  done  for  fun:  I  expect  a  return  for  everything  I 
advance,  and  I  take  my  own  way  to  get  it.  While 
you  are  at  school  —  it's  school  returns  I  want. 
When  you  go  into  the  mills  —  I'll  look  for  returns  of 
a  different  kind.  I'm  going  to  give  you  an  allowance, 
and  it's  got  to  do." 

"Sir?" 

"Oh! —  I  mean  I'm  going,  after  I  get  you  on  your 
feet,  to  put  up  a  certain  sum  of  money  for  you  to  live 
on;  buy  your  clothes  and  get  what  amusement  you 
can  —  along  your  own  lines.  I'm  not  going  to  pry 
or  question  you.  You've  got  to  feel  your  way  along 
—  it's  always  my  method.  They  who  stumble  or 
run  astray  must  learn  their  own  lesson  —  not  mine! 
I'll  steady  you  at  the  start;  after  that  you've  got  to 
learn  to  walk  alone  or  go  to  - 

"Yes,  sir!"  The  awful  weight  of  responsibility 
was  crushing  Sandy  as  the  city  did  —  but  he  kept 
clear  eyes  on  Markham. 


128  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"The  only  fun  I  have  in  life,"  Levi  said,  "is 
watching  the  outcome  of  my  investments.  You  are 
an  investment,  Sandford,  a  flier^ —  I  call  you !  You're 
a  risk  and  a  pick-up,  but  some  of  my  biggest  hauls 

me  from  Ashing  where  others  scorned  to  take  a 


'iance. " 


"Yes,  sir. * 

"You  are  willing  to  —  agree?" 

"Oh lyes,  sir." 

"Sounds  like  a  big  chance?" 

"I  reckon  it  does,  sir,  but  it's  what  I  saved  money 
for  ever  since  I  was  seven.  The  chance ,  I  mean,  sir." 

"  Sandford,  when  you  feei  that  you  can  —  not 
now,  but  some  day  —  I  want  you  to  tell  me  all  about 
yourself." 

"  Yes,  sir. "     But  the  thin  face  twitched. 

"And  now  come  down  to  dinner." 

For  a  few  days  more  the  crushing  city  did  its 
worst  for  Sandy.  The  noise  and  confusion  wore 
upon  him  cruelly.  The  memory  of  the  faces  of  the 
crowds  was  to  be  a  nightmare  to  him  for  years  to 
come.  To  one  who  had  dwelt  where  few  crossed  his 
path,  the  close  proximity  of  hundreds  and  hundreds 
of  eyes  during  the  day  left  an  impression  never  to  be 
forgotten.  The  personal  contact,  too,  drained  the 
small,  lately  gained  strength,  but  no  complaint 
passed  the  boy's  lips.  Matilda  pitied  Sandy  and 
in  her  quiet,  slow  thoughtfulness  shielded  him  how 
and  as  she  could.  Markham  had  business  in  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  129 

city  and  was  often  absorbed,  but  at  odd  moments  he 
relaxed  and  sought  to  entertain  his  sister  and  their 
charge  by  showing  them  the  sights  of  the  town.  It 
would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  appreciate 
the  suffering  he  often,  unconsciously,  caused  Sandy, 
who,  left  to  himself,  would  have  crouched  in  some 
quiet  corner  and  closed  his  eyes  against  every  un 
familiar  thing. 

Quite  weakened  by  the  experiences  of  the  stay  in 
New  York,  the  boy  reached  at  last  the  lovely  little 
New  England  village  of  Bretherton  at  the  close  of  a 
radiant  autumn  day.  He  was  too  weary  to  feel  even 
gratitude  as  the  carriage  that  awaited  the  party 
bore  him  away  from  the  noise  and  smell  of  the 
station  by  the  railroad.  His  untried  senses  had  been 
taxed  to  the  uttermost  since  leaving  The  Forge. 
His  eyes  ached ;  his  ears  throbbed.  Every  new  odour 
was  an  added  torture,  and  his  body  quivered  at  every 
touch.  Sleep  came  to  him  early,  however,  and  the 
small,  quiet  room  of  the  Markham  house  which  had 
been  allotted  to  him  was  like  a  sacred  holy  of  holies 
to  the  overstrained  nerves.  Sandy  slept  like  the 
dead  all  that  first  night,  but  habit  still  swayed  him, 
and  at  five  o'clock  he  wakened  suddenly  and  heard 
the  stir  of  life  out  of  doors.  Some  one  was  calling 
a  dog  —  his  dog!  It  was  Miss  Matilda,  and  Sandy 
smiled  as  he  listened  to  her  reasoning  with  Bdb  as 
was  her  custom.  Slowly  the  rested  nerves  asserted 
dominion  over  the  boy,  but  he  did  not  move.  He  was 


130  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

back,  in  longing,  among  the  old  Lost  Hollow  scenes. 
He  was  too  weak  to  adjust  himself  into  a  new  envir 
onment;  changes  had  worn  out  his  ambition  and  hope. 
Miserably  he  turned  upon  his  pillow  and  with  a 
sinking  of  the  soul  yearned  to  take  his  faithful  Bob 
with  him  and  go  back  to  that  life  which  demanded 
no  more  of  him  than  he  was  able  to  give. 

But  that  very  afternoon  his  future  became  so  in 
volved  with  that  of  another,  whom  he  had  never 
seen,  that  to  turn  back  would  have  been  an  im 
possibility.  He  and  Bob  were  walking  over  a 
stretch  of  soft,  hilly  land  toward  the  autumn-tinted 
woods  beyond,  when  young  Lansing  Hertford,  the 
son  of  Levi  Markham's  dead  sister,  arrived  for  a 
consultation  with  his  uncle.  All  his  life  Markham 
had  hungered  for  something  that  had  never  been  his 
—  something  peculiarly  his  own!  His  hard  and 
struggling  younger  years  had  denied  any  personal 
luxury.  He  had  worked  his  way  up;  supported  his 
old  father  and  mother  and  two  sisters;  had  grimly 
set  his  face  away  from  love  and  marriage,  and  then 
when  wealth  and  opportunity  came  to  him  the  desire 
was  past.  But  with  rigid  determination  he  looked 
in  other  directions  for  compensation.  At  first  it 
was  his  younger  sister,  Caroline.  Like  so  many  self- 
made  men,  the  fine,  dainty  things  of  life  attracted 
him.  He  had  dreams  of  costly  oil  paintings  and 
rare  china,  but  in  the  meantime  he  devoted  himself 
to  his  sisters.  He  and  Matilda  were  of  one  mind: 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  131 

after  their  parents'  death  Caroline  became  their  only 
care. 

Exquisite,  carefully  educated  and  beautiful,  they 
gloried  in  her.  They  endured  the  loneliness  of  the 
old  Bretherton  home  while  she  visited  with  school 
mates,  or  travelled  abroad  with  new  and  gayer 
friends.  Caroline  was  the  music  of  their  dull  lives ;  the 
art  of  their  prosaic  existences.  Then  the  shock  came 
when  she  announced  her  engagement  to  Lansing 
Hertford,  an  idle,  useless  son  of  a  down-at-the-heel 
Southern  family. 

"He's  no  fit  mate  for  you,  Caroline,"  Markham 
said  alarmedly. 

"That  may  be,  brother,"  the  girl  had  replied, 
"but  I  must  marry  him.  You  have  always  said  one 
must  learn  his  own  lesson,  not  another's.  I  am 
ready  to  take  the  consequences.  I  could  never  get 
away  from  the  sound  of  Lansing  Hertford's  voice. 
I  hear  him  at  night.  He  tells  me  that  when  tempta 
tion  or  weakness  overpowers  him  he  breathes  my 
name.  So,  you  see,  dear,  I  cannot  escape." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Caroline!" 

Markham  struggled  against  the  sense  of  impotency 
surging  around  him. 

"It's  my  lesson,  dear.     I'll  never  wince." 

And  she  never  had,  even  when  Hertford's  indiffer 
ence  changed  to  cruelty.  After  the  birth  of  her 
child,  Caroline  Hertford  failed  rapidly  and  the  end 
of  her  lesson  came  when  her  boy  was  two  years  old. 


132  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Markham  and  Matilda  had  desired  to  take  the  baby 
then,  but  Mrs.  Olive  Treadwell,  Hertford's  married 
sister,  put  in  a  protest. 

"It  would  blight  the  boy's  future  if  any  gossip 
touched  the  dead  mother  or  bereaved  father;  besides 
he  is  too  young  to  change  nurses  or  environment." 

When  little  Lansing  was  seven  his  father  died 
abroad  under  conditions  shrouded  with  secrecy,  and 
then  it  was  that  Olive  Treadwell  sought  Levi  Mark- 
ham  and  by  methods  unknown  to  the  simple,  direct 
man,  contrived  to  interest  him  in  her  nephew  and 
his. 

"There'll  be  a  mighty  big  fortune  some  day  for 
some  one  to  inherit  —  why  not  Lans?"  she  argued 
to  herself  and  began  her  campaign.  She  had  grown 
to  love  the  boy  in  her  vain,  worldly  way;  she  wanted 
him  and  the  Markham  money,  and  she  cautiously 
felt  her  way  through  the  years  while  the  child  was 
with  her. 

"I  hear  my  nephew  is  called  by  your  name,"  Levi 
remarked  once  during  a  call  at  the  Boston  home  of 
the  Treadwells. 

"Just  a  childish  happening.  You  know  how  simple 
little  minds  are;  having  no  mother  but  me,  he  calls 
me  mommy,  and  naturally  people  speak  of  him 
carelessly  by  my  name." 

"He  should  bear  his  own  and  seek  to  honour  it," 
Markham  returned  with  simplicity  equalling  a 
child's.  Mrs.  Treadwell  winced.  She  dared  not 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  133 

show  how  she  resented  any  unkind  reference  to  her 
brother,  but  she  had  always  looked  down  upon  his 
Yankee  marriage,  as  she  termed  it,  and  never  could 
understand  why  the  plain  Markhams  failed  to  realize 
the  honour  her  brother  had  paid  them  by  taking 
Caroline  for  his  wife. 

"I  must  see  that  the  misnomer  is  corrected,"  was 
all  Mrs.  Treadwell  rejoined.  So  Lansing  had  passed 
through  preparatory  school  and  was  ready  for  college 
before  Markham  could  be  brought  to  definite  terms. 
The  letter  from  The  Forge  was  the  first  proposition, 
and  now  on  that  September  day  Lansing  Hertford, 
prepared  and  coached  by  his  aunt  Treadwell,  pre 
sented  himself  at  Bretherton  on  the  two-fifty  train. 

"He'll  probably  offer  you  a  beastly  little  allow 
ance,"  Olive  Treadwell  had  warned;  "but  I'll  add 
to  that;  so  accept  it  like  a  lamb.  Then  he'll  throw 
Cornell  to  you  —  he  has  right  bad  taste  in  univer 
sities  —  but  you  must  use  your  tact  there,  Lans. 
Tell  him  about  your  associates  and  how  your  future 
will  be  influenced  by  your  college  Frat  and  such 
things.  Men  like  your  uncle  Markham  are  always 
snobs  at  heart. " 

Thus  reinforced  Lansing  Hertford  came  up  for 
judgment.  He  was  a  handsome,  rollicking  chap  —  a 
charming  combination  of  his  graceful  father  and  his 
lovely  mother  —  and  he  greeted  his  uncle  and  aunt 
with  frank  affection.  Even  in  those  days  Lansing 
Hertford  could  will  his  emotions  —  or  his  emotions 


134  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

could  will  him  —  to  sincerity  for  the  time  being.  He 
had  ideals  and  enthusiasms — he  changed  them  often, 
and,  as  often,  they  changed  him,  but  outwardly  a 
frankness  and  openness  were  his  chief  attributes  and 
had  held  his  uncle,  through  the  hope-deferred  years, 
to  expect  big  things  of  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ESING  TREADWELL,  after  an  hour  on  the 
piazza  with  his  aunt  and  uncle,  followed  the 
latter  into  the  study  and,  taking  the  broad 
leather  chair,  faced  Markham  across  the  flat  desk 
with  candid,  friendly  eyes.     Levi  sat,  as  he  always 
did  when  in  that  room,  in  his  revolving  chair;  the 
leather  one  was  reserved  for  visitors. 

"Well,  Lansing,"  he  began,  sternly  endeavouring 
to  obscure  the  hope,  pride,  and  affection  that  were 
welling  up  in  his  heart  as  he  looked  at  the  boy; 
"you're  through  preparatory;  have  qualified  for  col 
lege  and,  after  this  year,  are  ready  for  your  career!" 

"I've  done  pretty  well,  Uncle  Levi.  I  stand  third 
in  my  class  and  I'm  the  youngest. " 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Seventeen." 

"You'll  be  eighteen  when  you  enter  college? 
That's  too  young." 

"I'm  older  than  my  years,"  Lansing  gave  a 
boastful  laugh,  then  did  a  bungling  thing.  "Won't 
you  smoke,  Uncle  Levi?"  and  he  passed  a  handsome 
silver  case  forward;  "it's  a  great  tie  between  —  well, 
chums!" 

135 


136  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I've  lived  over  sixty  years  without  the  need  of 
that  tie,"  Markham  returned  stiffly;  "I  do  not  think 
I'll  take  it  up  now.  I'm  not  much  of  a  preacher,  but 
at  your  age,  Lansing,  I'd  advise  the  collection  of 
good  tastes  and  habits;  let  the  doubtful  luxuries 
await  the  years  of  discretion. " 

Lansing  pocketed  his  silver  case  and  gave  an 
embarrassed  laugh.  Levi  went  back  to  his  former 
line  of  argument. 

"It's  Cornell  and  the  beggarly  allowance," 
thought  Lansing,  but  it  was  no  such  thing. 

"You  are  too  young  to  go  to  college,  Lans;  too 
immature  to  really  put  yourself  to  any  final  test. 
Your  assumption  of  dignity  proves  this  more  than 
anything  else.  Of  course  I  do  not  know  how  much  or 
how  little  you  know  of  the  past,  but  it  is  necessary, 
from  now  on,  that  you  and  I  should  understand  each 
other  perfectly.  I  was  very  "  —  Levi  struggled  for 
composure  —  "very  fond  of  your  mother. " 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"And  I  did  not  want  her  to  marry  your  father.  I 
feared  he  would  not  make  her  happy  —  he  did 
not!" 

The  crisp  facts  came  out  with  force  but  with  no 
malignity,  and  Lansing  Hertford  dropped  his  eyes  as 
he  replied: 

"Aunt  Olive  has  told  me  they  were  very  uncon 
genial."  A  flush  rose  to  the  young  fellow's  face. 
A  pride,  not  altogether  unworthy,  rang  in  the  words 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  137 

and  for  the  first  time  Markham  detected  a  resem 
blance  to  the  father  in  the  close-shut  lips. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  say  anything  against  your 
father  that  is  avoidable,  but  for  your  own  safety 
and  my  own  protection  I  realize  that  you  and  I  must 
be  quite  open  with  each  other." 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"Your  mother  died  more  of  a  broken  heart  than  of 
anything  else." 

The  boy  set  his  jaw. 

"I  know  father  loved  life  and  took  it  as  it  came," 
he  said. 

A  brief  silence  rested  between  the  two,  then 
Markham  went  on: 

"Naturally  you  inherit  from  both  your  parents. 
To  a  certain  extent,  certainly,  a  man,  under  God,  is 
master  of  his  life  and  I  want  to  give  you  the  best 
possible  choice  that  lies  in  my  power,  not  only  for 
your  own  sake  and  mine,  but  for  your  mother's  and 
—  yes !  your  father's ! " 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Levi." 

And  now  the  boy's  eyes  were  raised  once  more. 
They  swept  the  room,  Markham's  face,  and  then 
travelled  to  the  broad  acres  in  rich  cultivation  as 
far  as  one  could  see. 

"You  have  had  too  much  pleasure  and  luxury, 
Lans;  things  have  come  too  easily.  You  have  never 
been  brought  face  to  face  with  a  longing,  and  been 
made  to  understand  that  sacrifice,  on  your  part,  was 


I38  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

necessary  to  obtain  it.  Unless  you  have  felt  so,  you 
are  in  no  position  to  find  yourself,  as  you  put  it." 

Again  the  vital  silence. 

"How  do  you  know  whether  you  want  a  college 
education  or  not?  How  do  you  know  you  are  worthy 
of  this  great  privilege?  You  may  not  even  be  fitted 
for  it  by  nature. " 

Had  Markham  asked  if  his  nephew  knew  whether 
he  would  ever  want  to  eat  a  meal  again,  the  boy  could 
not  have  been  more  surprised.  College,  to  him  and 
his  set,  was  as  natural  a  sequence  as  dessert  after  the 
courses  preceding  it.  For  the  life  of  him  Lansing 
could  not  prevent  a  stare.  His  aunt  had  left  him 
utterly  unprepared  for  this. 

"Now  this  is  my  proposition:"  Markham  had  his 
elbows  on  his  desk,  his  chin  resting  on  the  points  of 
his  clasped  hands;  "I  will  take  you  into  the  mills  on 
exactly  the  same  terms  as  I  would  any  other  young 
fellow  —  except  that  you  will  share  my  home  — 
until  you  learn  the  rudiments  of  the  business  and 
discover  whether  you  have  any  business  sense  or  not. 
By  the  time  you  have  mastered  that  and  experienced 
some  bodily  labour,  you  will  be  in  a  position  where 
you  can  choose,  to  some  degree,  your  career. 
Should  you,  then,  wish  to  enter  college,  I  will  permit 
you  to  select  one,  and  I  will  see  you  through.  It  is 
my  firm  belief  that  between  a  preparatory  school  and 
college  there  should  be  a  space  of  time,  except  in 
particular  cases,  for  looking  backward  and  forward 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  139 

—  a  breathing  time;  a  time  for  relaxation  and  the 
acquiring  of  fixed  aims.  College  should  not  be 
passed  out  to  a  boy  as  a  plum  or  a  luxury  —  it's  too 
grave  a  matter  for  that.  All  my  life  I  have  deplored 
the  lack  of  it  —  but  I  had  to  live  and  suffer  before 
I  realized  its  importance." 

With  all  his  honesty  Lansing  Hertford  was  trying 
at  this  critical  time  to  get  his  uncle's  point  of  view. 
Of  one  thing  alone  was  he  sure  —  he  was,  he  believed, 
so  far  ahead  of  his  uncle  in  his  knowledge  of  life  that 
the  old  gentleman  seemed  but  a  blurred  speck  on  the 
social  horizon.  No  longer  could  he  be  looked  to  as  a 
safe  adviser.  Why,  left  to  himself,  the  man  might 
sacrifice  the  family  name  and  prestige!  He  did  not 
even  understand  the  decent  conventions  due  his  own 
standing  in  the  community!  Suddenly  Lansing 
Hertford  felt  old  and  anxious  as  though  upon  him, 
instead  of  Levi,  rested  the  responsibility  of  the  future. 
He  tried  to  frame  a  reply  that  might  enlighten  and 
not  insult,  but  it  was  difficult.  At  last  he  spoke. 

"Uncle  Levi,  I  cannot  see  what  such  effort  and 
success  as  yours  amount  to  if  they  do  not  place  the 
next  generation  higher.  What  you  say  you  have 
deplored  in  your  own  life  should  prove  to  you  what  I 
ought  to  have.  Your  experience  counts  for  so  much, 
you  know.  I  expect  to  work,  and  work  hard  - 
always  have  worked  hard.  I'm  two  years  ahead 
of  most  fellows  of  my  age.  But  I  want  to  start 
from  where  you  and  my  Aunt  Olive  leave  off,  I  want 


i4o  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  mingle  with  my  kind  —  I  am  all  but  qualified  to 
enter  Yale  —  I  could  not  go  —  back!" 

"Your  kind!  Go  back!"  Levi's  eyes  flashed 
under  his  shaggy  brows.  "What  is  your  kind? 
Have  you  ever  mingled  with  those  above  or  below 
you  ?  And  as  to  going  back  —  is  it  degrading  to 
place  yourself  in  a  position  from  which  you  can  accept 
or  decline  a  great  opportunity  intelligently?  I  was 
forced  to  learn  my  lesson  in  a  hard  school;  you  can 
still  learn  the  lesson  even  with  the  limitations  of 
luxury.  Your  'kind'  is  good,  bad,  and  indifferent, 
and  there  are  other  kinds.  I  see  you  before  me, 
young  and  hopeful  —  but  ignorant  and  blind.  I 
want  to  open  every  avenue  to  you  that  leads  to 
successful  manhood.  You  are  losing  nothing  by  my 
plan ;  you  are  gaining  much."  Something  very  plead 
ing  rang  in  Markham's  voice,  but  Lansing  was  deaf 
to  it. 

"Uncle  Levi  —  I  cannot!  I'd  be  a  disappoint 
ment  to  you  if  I  tried.  I've  got  to  go  on  with  the 
fellows.  I'd  lose  more  than  you  know  if  I  broke 
away  now  and  —  and  buried  myself  in  the  mill, 
and  then  tried  later  to  pick  up.  You've  never  been 
through  what  I  have  —  the  break  would  be  the  end 
of  me!  You'd  know  it  when  it  was  too  late.  I 
mean  to  try  to  be  the  best  of  my  kind,  indeed  I  do 
—  but  the  fellow  I  am  is  the  result  of  my  training 
and  it  means  everything  to  me." 

What  Levi  Markham  saw  before  him  now  was  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  141 

son  of  Lansing  Hertford  —  all  resemblance  to  the 
mother  was  gone.  Baffled  and  defeated  by  a  some 
thing  invincible  and  beyond  his  understanding,  the 
old  man  faced  the  calmness  of  the  young  fellow  in  the 
chair  across  the  desk.  When  he  spoke  he  addressed 
a  Hertford  only. 

"You  have  heard  my  proposition,  Lansing;  I  mean 
to  stand  by  it;  unless  you  can  accept  my  terms  I 
shall  change  my  will." 

Could  Markham  only  have  understood  he  would 
have  known  that  it  was  the  pride  of  his  race,  not 
the  Hertfords'jthat  spurred  Lansing  to  retort  angrily: 

"I  did  not  know  I  was  being  bought.  I  thought 
you  were  doing  it  for  what  you  believed  was  my 
good!" 

"And  so  I  am!"  The  incongruity  of  thus  arguing 
with  a  boy  of  seventeen  did  not  strike  Markham. 
It  was  man  to  man,  with  the  influence  of  Olive  Tread- 
well  in  the  reckoning! 

"Give  me  my  college  first,  Uncle  Levi,  and  consider 
the  business  afterward." 

"I  have  worked  this  thing  out,  Lansing.  I  am 
not  likely  to  change  my  mind." 

And  just  then  Sandy  Morley  passed  by  the  win 
dow  with  his  dog  at  his  heels. 

"Who  is  that?"  asked  Lans  indifferently,  and  a 
blind  impulse  spoke  through  Markham. 

"The  boy  who  will  accept  the  offer  I  make  if  you 
decline  it  1" 


142  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Lansing  Hertford  got  upon  his  feet.  All  the 
forced  affection  and  respect  he  had  been  trained  to 
observe  dropped  from  him.  His  uncle  seemed  a 
coarse,  hard  stranger,  the  surroundings  distasteful. 
A  certain  mental  homesickness  for  all  the  pleasant 
luxury  and  environment  of  his  Aunt  Olive's  life  over 
came  him.  He  spoke  boyishly. 

"I  think  I  will  return  to  Boston  to-night,  Uncle 
Levi.  There's  a  train  at  seven.  I  couldn't  eat 
dinner  feeling  as  I  do.  Good-bye,  I'm  going  to  walk 
to  the  station.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  send  my 
traps  up  to-morrow.  Bid  Aunt  Tilda  good-bye, 
please." 

He  put  out  his  hand  frankly  and  was  gone  before 
Markham  realized  the  situation. 

"It  was  not  Lans  you  were  fighting,"  Matilda 
sagely  remarked  later  when  her  brother  explained 
matters  to  her,  "it  was  his  dead  father,  and  Olive 
Treadwell.  You  just  better  write  to  the  boy,  I  guess, 
and  get  him  to  finish  out  his  visit  and  reconsider.  I 
tell  you  flat-footed,  Levi,  there  ain't  much  give  to 
you  when  you've  worked  yourself  up,  and  I  must  say 
I  like  the  lad  all  the  better  for  the  way  he  stood  up 
for  his  kin.  They  are  his  kin,  and  good  or  bad,  that 
Treadwell  woman  has  won  his  affection  when  we 
couldn't.  And  to  throw  that  —  that  strange  boy 
at  his  head  in  that  fashion!  It  wasn't  worthy  of 
you,  Levi!  It  was  downright  shallow  and  you  prat 
ing  alw?vs  of  justice  and  sane  reasoning!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  143 

What  might  have  happened  when  Markham  had 
digested  hi*  sister's  practical  remarks  was  never  to 
be  known,  for  Olive  Treadwell,  in  blind  fury,  and 
what  she  considered  righteous  indignation,  pre 
vented. 

Weak  and  unbalanced,  but  with  a  deep-seated 
belief  in  her  social  superiority  and  worldly  knowl 
edge,  she  sent  a  letter,  by  special  delivery,  to  Brether- 
ton,  that  left  Levi  incapable  of  response : 

I  suppose  you  have  taken  this  method  of  degrading  my  dead 
brother  and  me.  That  one  of  your  humble  origin  can  estimate 
the  impression  upon  another  of  such  an  offer  as  you  made  to  my 
nephew  is  quite  beyond  expectation.  The  Hertfords  have 
always  been  gentlemen  and  ladies  and  you  would  send  the  last 
of  the  race,  by  the  power  of  your  vulgar  money,  to  work  among 
common  labourers  in  order  to  break  his  spirit  and  pride!  You 
are  too  blind,  apparently,  to  appreciate  the  honour  my  brother 
paid  your  sister  by  marrying  her.  His  personal  shortcomings 
could  not  possibly  outweigh  the  position  that  he  gained  for  her 
when  she  took  his  name.  Through  all  these  years  I  have  sup 
pressed  my  feeling  as  to  the  matter  because  I  have  felt  that  you 
and  I,  working  together,  might  place  the  son  of  your  sister  and 
my  brother  in  a  position  that  would  reflect  credit  upon  us  both; 
but  since  you  have  failed  to  recognize  your  opportunity  and,  in 
sordid  revenge,  have  sought  to  degrade  him,  I  assume  all  respon 
sibility  in  the  future.  I  am,  comparatively,  a  poor  woman,  but 
hereafter  Lansing  Treadwell  and  I  will  share  and  share  alike.  I 
shall  endeavour,  to  the  best  that  is  in  me,  to  prove  to  him  that  it 
is  such  men  as  you  who  hold  the  world  back!  Men  who  over 
estimate  money  and  undervalue  blood  and  social  position  are 
not  to  be  envied  or  trusted. 

Having  read  this  aloud  to  Matilda,  Levi  dropped 
the  closely  written  sheet  to  the  floor. 


144  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"She'sgotthe  courage  of  her  convictions,"  Matilda 
snapped. 

"And  an  old  grudge,"  Markham  returned. 

"Well,  I  will  say  this  for  her,"  Matilda  added; 
"she's  upset  her  kettle  of  fish  and  Lans',  too." 

"  So  it  seems !     So  it  seems ! " 

Levi  was  looking  at  a  flaming  maple  tree  outside 
and  thinking  of  his  dead  sister. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  letter  that 
Sandy  Morley,  sitting  rigidly  in  the  chair  that  Lan 
sing  Hertford  had  lounged  in,  listened  to  as  much 
of  an  outline  of  his  future  as  Levi  Markham  felt  he 
could  comprehend. 

"And  remember,"  Markham  warned  at  the  end, 
"I  want  you  to  learn  how  little  a  hundred  dollars 
is  as  well  as  how  big!  One  is  as  important  as  the 
other." 

"Yes,  sir,"  Sandy  returned  with  a  vague  wonder, 
for  he  had  yet  to  learn  to  think  in  dollars. 

"Can  you" — Markham  considerately  paused  be 
fore  putting  the  next  question  —  "do  you  feel  able 
to  tell  me  a  little  more  about  yourself  than  I  already 
know?  I  should  like  to  feel  that  you  trust  me. " 

Sandy  was  stronger  and  better  for  his  days  in 
Bretherton  and,  never  having  had  any  great  con 
sideration  shown  him,  he  looked  upon  Levi  Markham 
as  a  veritable  God  especially  upraised  for  his  guid 
ance  and  protection. 

"I   want   to  tell   you!"  he  said  in  a  low,  tense 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  145 

voice.  Leaning  forward  until  his  arms  touched  the 
opposite  side  of  the  desk,  his  thin,  sensitive  face  was 
nearly  on  a  level  with  Markham's. 

"  It's  —  this  —  er  —  way. " 

The  shade  at  the  broad  window  behind  Sandy  had 
not  been  lowered,  and  a  very  magnificent  black 
night  riddled  with  stars  stood  like  a  shield  against 
which  the  boyish  form  and  pale  face  rested.  There 
was  a  crumbling  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  the  lamp  on 
the  table  was  turned  low.  Markham,  listening  to 
the  slow,  earnest  voice,  became  hypnotized  by  its 
quality  and  pure  purpose.  He  felt  the  dreariness 
and  hopelessness  of  the  hard  childhood,  and  the  hate 
that  Mary  Morley  had  aroused  seemed  to  the  listener 
to  be  the  first  vivifying  happening.  He  never  took 
his  eyes  from  Sandy's  face  from  first  to  last.  The 
years  of  labour,  self-sacrifice  and  fixed  purpose  stirred 
him  strangely,  and  the  touch  of  spirit  introduced  into 
the  boy's  voice  when  he  approached  the  end  found 
an  echo  in  Markham's  heart. 

"I'm  going  to  learn  and  then  go  back  and  help 
them-all  who  can't  help  themselves,"  Sandy  ex 
plained,  "for  7  know,  sir.  No  one  what  does  not 
know,  could  ever  do  it!  Us-all  fears  strangers.  I'm 
going  to  get  them-all  safe  some  day,  sir.  I'm  going 
to  have  a  right,  big  place  to  gather  them  in  and  teach 
them.  No  Hertford  curse  is  going  to  kill  what  has 
called  me!" 

So  abstracted  had  Levi  been,  so  distant  in  thought 


146  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

from  the  Bretherton  study,  and  his  own  inward 
trouble,  that  this  name,  falling  from  Sandy's  lips, 
shocked  him  beyond  measure. 

"What  —  did  —  you  —  say?"  he  gasped;  "what 
name  did  you  say  ?" 

"Hertford,  sir." 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  Hertfords?"  It  was 
all  Markham  could  do  to  hold  his  emotions  in  abey 
ance. 

Sandy  told  his  father's  story,  all  but  that  which 
related  to  the  Waldens,  and  the  listener  hung  on 
every  word. 

"And  so,  sir,  don't  you  see,  I  must  be  what  they- 
all,  my  kith  and  kin,  couldn't  be?  I've  got  to  use 
my  chance  for  them  as  well  as  for  me. " 

"It's  a  big  proposition,  boy!"     Levi  relaxed. 

"Yes,  sir."     The  young  face  was  tired  and  worn. 

"Well,  then,  listen"  —a  strange  light  shone  in 
Markham's  eyes  —  "if  you  prove  yourself  able  to 
tackle  this  job,  by  God,  I'll  back  you!  You  and  I 
will  redeem  that  old  Hollow  of  yours  —  you  with  my 
money!  We'll  get  Smith  Crothers  by  the  throat  and 
throttle  him;  we'll  clean  up  the  Speak  Easies  and  cut 
more  windows  in  the  cabins.  Where  did  you  get  the 
notion,  son,  that  with  more  light  and  air  there  would 
be  less  damnation?" 

"I've  lived  in  the  cabins,  sir." 

"Well,  we'll  cut  all  the  windows  you  want  and 
have  the  school  and"  —  Markham  was  quivering  — 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  147 

"we'll  see  if  the  Morleys  can't  rise  up  in  the  land 
of  their  fathers  and  stamp  the  Hertfords  under 
foot!" 

"Yes,  sir!"  And  then  Sandy  gave  one  of  his 
rare,  rich  laughs. 

From  that  day  the  preparations  began.  A  school 
in  the  mountains  of  New  Hampshire  was  selected, 
and  Sandy  fitted  out  with  everything  necessary  and 
proper. 

Markham  was  noted  for  a  sense  of  propriety.  He 
kept  his  mills  and  lands  in  good  condition  because 
he  was  wise  and  sane;  he  housed  his  employees 
decently  for  the  same  reason,  and  he  insisted  upon 
their  cooperation.  He  never  let  his  taxes  lapse,  nor 
his  money  lie  fallow.  He  had,  hidden  in  a  drawer  of 
his  desk,  a  valuable  diamond  ring  that  he  took  out 
in  secret  moments  to  enjoy.  Occasionally  the  jewels 
were  sent  to  Boston  and  put  on  the  wheel  because  the 
artistic  soul  of  Levi  Markham  demanded  that 
through  no  carelessness  of  his  should  their  lustre 
become  dimmed.  For  much  the  same  reasons  Sandy 
Morley  was  entered  upon  his  career  in  a  manner 
befitting  the  hope  that  was  in  Markham  for 
him. 

The  day  Sandy  was  sent  from  Bretherton,  Olive 
Treadwell  and  her  adopted  son,  Lansing  Treadwell, 
sailed  for  a  year's  stay  in  Europe,  and  Levi  and 
Matilda  Markham  grimly  agreed  to  leave  things  as 
they  were. 


148  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"There's  no  use  stirring  up  pudding  past  a  cer 
tain  point,"  Matilda  said.  "If  you  do  it's  apt  to 
go  heavy." 

"And  it's  the  part  of  wisdom  to  watch  a  rising 
batch  of  bread,"  Levi  returned  humorously.  "When 
you  can't  get  pudding  —  or  when  the  pudding  fails 
—  look  to  bread  and  make  the  best  of  it!" 


CHAPTER  X 

CYNTHIA  WALDEN  came  slowly  up  the 
trail  leading  to  the  old  gray  house.  Since 
the  day  of  the  flood  which  bore  old  Ivy  for 
ever  from  sight,  she  had  confronted  so  many  strange 
conditions  that  her  eyes  had  the  haunted,  fright 
ened  expression  common  to  the  mountain  people. 
The  curse  of  the  hills  seemed  to  have  settled  upon 
her.  She  often  said  to  herself,  "poor  whites,"  in 
order  that  the  significance  might  be  fully  under 
stood.  Old  Ivy  had  said  that  the  cows  were  all  that 
stood  between  them  and  the  fate  of  others  who  had, 
through  misfortune,  accepted  the  title  despised  by 
the  quality. 

Well,  she,  Cynthia  Walden,  was  no  longer  quality; 
of  that  there  could  be  no  doubt.  Had  Ivy  and  the 
cows  been  spared  she  might  have  hidden  her  dis 
grace  of  parentage,  but  now  she  must,  in  order  to  get 
food  and  wood,  seek  the  help  and  charity  of  others, 
and  she  could  no  longer  hold  up  her  head! 

At  this  thought  the  pretty,  drooping  head  was 
lifted  defiantly.  No!  she  would  not  go  down  just 
yet,  for  one  last  motive  remained.  While  she  was 
at  the  store  an  hour  before  to  buy  a  few  necessary 

149 


ISO  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

articles  of  food  with  the  pitiful  supply  of  money  she 
had  found  in  an  old  teapot  on  the  kitchen  shelf,  a 
wonderful  thing  had  occurred.  Tod  Greeley,  weigh 
ing  out  some  tea,  remarked  casually: 

"I  reckon,  now  I  think  o'  it,  Miss  Cyn,  there's  a 
letter  come  for  you.  One  for  you  and  one  for  Mr. 
Morley." 

"A  letter!"  Cynthia  almost  staggered.  "A 
letter!" 

Never  in  all  her  life  had  Cynthia  received  a  letter, 
never  had  her  imagination  soared  to  such  a  height  as 
to  conceive  of  such  a  thing.  Tod  finished  his  careful 
weighing,  then  added  a  reckless  handful  and,  having 
tied  the  tea  up  in  a  bulky  package,  wandered  to  the 
dirty  row  of  letter  boxes. 

"Here  it  is!"  he  exclaimed  after  thumbing  the 
morning  mail  over  and  remarking  about  each  article. 

"Yours  and  Mr.  Morley's  bear  the  same  writing 
—  Noo  York !  There  ain't  been  a  Noo  York  letter 
in  this  yere  post-office  since  I  came  to  The  Hollow. 
It's  a  right  smart  compliment,  Miss  Cyn!" 

Trembling  and  pale  with  excitement,  Cynthia 
grasped  the  letter,  tucked  her  little  bundles  under 
her  arm  and  ran  from  the  store. 

The  cold,  crisp  air  of  late  autumn  spurred  her  to 
action,  and  she  kept  on  running,  with  the  letter  burn 
ing  her  hand  like  flame,  so  tightly  did  she  grip  it. 
Before  she  reached  the  broken  and  dilapidated  fence 
separating  the  home  place  of  Stoneledge  from  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  151 

trail,  she  paused  beneath  a  tree  to  take  breath  and 
reconnoitre.  She  looked  at  the  letter  then  for  the 
first  time,  and  she  was  sure  it  was  from  Sandy.  Her 
heart  beat  painfully  and  her  eyes  widened.  Looking 
about  to  make  sure  of  privacy  she  tore  open  the 
envelope  and  lo!  at  the  first  words  the  gray  autumn 
day  glowed  like  gold,  and  the  world  was  set  to  music. 
Poor  Sandy,  distracted  by  the  noise  and  confusion 
of  the  big  city,  had  permitted  himself,  when  writing 
to  Cynthia,  the  solace  of  imagination  and  memory. 
"Dear  Madam  Bubble!"  Why,  Cynthia  had 
almost  forgotten  her  pretty,  fascinating  story-self  1 
Her  dear,  slow  smile  had  almost  lost  its  cunning. 
However,  it  returned,  now,  and  drew  the  corners  of 
the  stern  young  mouth  up  pathetically. 

DEAR  MADAM  BUBBLE: 

I  am  remembering  everything  and  holding  to  it.  I  shut  my 
eyes  and  I  see  you  standing  by  The  Way  with  your  face  like  the 
dogwood  flowers  in  the  spring  —  shining  and  white  and  happy! 
That  —  er  —  way  is  how  it  is  going  always  to  look  till  I  come 
back.  No  matter  what  happens  to  me;  no  matter  how  mighty 
hard  things  are,  I  am  just  going  to  stop  short,  when  I  feel  I  can't 
bear  life,  and  shut  my  eyes  and  see  you  a-standing  waiting  like 
what  you  said.  I've  met  much  kindness  and  a  great  friend  — 
it's  the  noise  and  strangeness  and  many  folks  what  turn  me 
crazy-like,  but  always  when  I  shut  my  eyes  —  you  come  and  it 
seems  home  again.  If  I  don't  write,  please  Madam  Bubble,  know 
it's  because  I'm  fighting  hard  to  get  something  fit  to  bring  to  you 
when  I  come  back.  And  I  reckon  you  better  not  write  to  me  — 
I  couldn't  stand  it.  You  know  how  I  couldn't  count  the  money 
—  till  the  time  came!  That  is  the  sort  I  am  and,  besides,  I've 
got  to  find  out  what  this  —  er  —  life  is  going  to  make  me  into. 


152  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

If  I  shouldn't  be  worthy  to  come  up  The  Way  to  you  —  you 
better  not  know.  But  I  will  be!  I  will  be!  Thank  you  for 
what  you've  done  for  me  and  most  for  letting  me  think  you'll 
wait  and  be  ready. 

Cynthia  dropped  the  letter  in  her  lap  —  for  she 
was  crouching  beneath  the  tree.  It  was  a  badly 
written  and  much-soiled  letter  but  no  missive  straight 
from  heaven  could  have  performed  a  greater  miracle 
upon  her.  A  radiance  flooded  her  face  from  brow 
to  chin,  and  her  eyes  glistened  with  the  happy  tears 
that  never  overflowed  the  blue-gray  wells  that  held 
them. 

"Sandy!"  The  familiar  name  passed  her  lips 
like  the  word  of  a  prayer;  "Sandy —  "The  Biggest 
of  Them  All!"  I'll  be  a-waiting  by  The  Way  like 
what  I  said!" 

There  were  consecration  and  joy  in  the  words,  and 
the  transformation  in  the  girl  was  wonderful.  Gone 
was  the  look  of  despair  and  surrender.  Madam 
Bubble  was  herself  again! 

Springing  up,  the  girl  began  to  dance  about  among 
the  sodden  autumn  leaves.  She  sang,  too,  as  the 
wild  things  of  the  woods  sing.  There  was  no  tune; 
no  sustained  sound,  but  mad  little  trills  and  unex 
pected  breaks.  She  imitated  the  bird-note  that  was 
Sandy's  signal;  she  meant  to  practise  it  every  day 
and  keep  it  for  his  return  lest  he  lost  it  among  the 
noises  and  crowds  in  which  he  must  do  battle.  Then 
Cynthia  spied  a  hole  in  the  trunk  of  the  tree  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  153 

with  sudden  abandonment  she  pushed  her  letter 
into  it. 

"There!"  she  panted;  "and  I'll  put  my  answers 
in  it,  too,  and  give  them  all  to  Sandy  when  he  comes 
up  The  Way." 

But  hunger  and  recent  trouble  laid  restraining 
hands  upon  the  girl  at  that  moment.  She  sank 
down  and  shivered  nervously.  Between  this  mo 
ment  and  the  one  of  Sandy's  return  stretched  a 
dreary  space,  and  how  was  she  to  keep  her  heart  light 
and  meet  the  dreary  problems  that  confronted  her? 
Winter  was  at  hand;  the  wood  pile  had  been  swept 
from  the  door,  and  there  were  only  a  few  dollars  in  the 
cracked  teapot.  Old  Ivy's  body,  rescued  a  week 
after  the  flood,  was  buried  from  sight  in  the  Walden 
"plot,"  and  Ann  Walden  was  greatly  changed. 
Cynthia  did  not  understand,  but  she  was  terribly 
afraid.  Ann  Walden  laughed  a  great  deal,  slyly 
and  cunningly.  She  never  mentioned  Ivy  except  to 
question  where  she  had  gone.  The  mistress  of  the 
Great  House,  too,  took  to  pacing  the  upper  balcony 
and  repeating  over  and  over: 

"The  hills  —  whence  cometh  my  strength!" 

It  was  quite  fearful,  but  Cynthia  had  already 
learned  to  keep  away  from  her  aunt  at  moments  of 
excitement;  her  presence  always  made  matters  worse. 
And  once,  soon  after  her  return,  Marcia  Lowe  had 
ventured  to  call  at  Stoneledge,  but  the  outcome  of 
her  visit  had  been  so  deplorable  that  the  little  doctor 


154  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

was  driven  to  despair.  She  had  knocked  at  the 
outer  door,  which  stood  ajar,  and,  receiving  no  reply, 
had  walked  into  the  hall  and  to  the  library.  There 
sat  Ann  Walden  just  as  Miss  Lowe  had  left  her  on 
the  fateful  afternoon  of  the  letter.  When  Miss 
Walden  raised  her  eyes  to  her  unannounced  caller 
a  madness,  with  strange  flashes  of  lucidity,  overcame 
her. 

"Out!"  she  shouted  —  "it  was  all  a  lie  —  there 
never  was  a  marriage!  Never!  Would  you  kill  me 
and  the  child?  Leave  us  alone.  We  will  not  take 
the  money  or  the  shame!  Leave  me!  leave  me!" 

Then  running  to  the  far  corner  of  the  fireplace  she 
sank  upon  the  floor  and  with  outstretched  hands 
she  moaned: 

"He  killed  her!  killed  her!  and  I  damned  her; 
leave  us  alone!" 

At  that  point  Cynthia  rushed  into  the  room  and 
caught  the  poor,  old,  shrinking  form  in  her  arms; 
then,  with  flashing  eyes  she  turned  upon  Marcia 
Lowe. 

"Go!"  she  commanded  with  sudden  courage  and 
desperation.  "Go !  Don't  you  hear  Aunt  Ann ? " 

"You  promised,  little  Cyn!"  whined  Miss  Walden, 
"you  promised!" 

"I  know  —  all  about  it!"  Cynthia  murmured, 
still  keeping  her  fear-filled  eyes  upon  the  caller  — 
"I,  too,  want  you  —  to  go  away!" 

Her  training  had  fitted  Marcia  Lowe  to  under- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  155 

stand  and  take  alarm  at  what  she  beheld,  but  it  also 
demanded  that  she  leave  at  once.  Since  then 
Cynthia  had  never  seen  the  little  doctor,  and  the 
change  in  Ann  Walden  did  not  include  another 
furious  outburst  such  as  that. 

The  excitement  of  the  letter  faded  when  the  magic 
sheet  of  paper  was  hidden  from  sight,  and  stern 
necessity  brought  the  severe  lines  back  to  the  thin, 
pale  face.  It  was  just  at  that  moment  that  Smith 
Crothers  came  down  the  path,  crunching  under  his 
heavy  boots  the  damp  leaves  and  branches.  Seeing 
Cynthia  beneath  the  tree  he  paused  and  took  off  his 
hat.  Whatever  the  girl  felt  and  believed  of  the  man 
was  gained  though  indirect  information  —  he  had 
meant  nothing  personal  to  her  before,  and  it  was 
something  of  a  surprise  for  her  to  realize  that  he  was 
a  good  looking  man  and  could  smile  in  kindly  fashion. 

"Little  Miss  Walden,"  he  said  courteously,  "I've 
just  been  a-hearing  how  you-all  suffered  from  the 
storm.  Mr.  Greeley  done  told  me  the  old  lady  is  all 
around  cracked!" 

"  Cracked ! "  The  mountain  interpretation  of  this 
word  flooded  Cynthia's  consciousness  like  a  flame 
that  made  plain  all  the  subtle  fear  of  the  past  few 
weeks.  That  was  it,  of  course!  "All  around 
cracked!" 

"Oh!"  came  in  a  shuddering  cry;  "oh!  oh!  oh!" 

"Now  don't  take  on  that-er-way, "  comforted 
Crothers,  coming  nearer.  "Us-all  mean  to  stand 


156  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

by  you.  I  expect  you-all  ain't  over-rich  either,  and 
we-all  can  help  in  a  right  practical  way.  What  do 
you  say,  little  Miss  Cyn,  to  coming  down  to  the 
factory  and  doing  light  work  and  getting  mighty 
good  pay?" 

A  new  horror  shook  Cynthia's  pallid  face;  but 
Crothers  met  it  with  a  laugh. 

"Don't  take  on  without  reason,"  he  soothed. 
"Ain't  I  done  something  for  the  mountings?"  he 
asked;  "I  know  what  some  folks  think  about  me, 
little  Miss  Cyn,  but  you  be  a  right  peart  miss,  and 
I  ask  you  straight  and  true  —  wouldn't  things  be 
worse,  bad  as  they  be,  if  I  didn't  take  folks  and  pay 
'em?  Chillun  is  better  'long  o'  their  mothers,  when 
all's  said  and  done,  and  they  don't  have  to  come  if 
they  don't  want  to,  and  when  they  do  come  the  work 
don't  hurt  them.  Just  'nough  to  keep  'em  from  mis 
chief  and  me  a-paying  their  parents  for  what  is  play 
to  the  young-uns. " 

Cynthia  thought  of  Sandy's  moan  over  the  baby- 
things  of  the  factory  and  her  eyes  filled.  She  did 
not  know,  perhaps  Sandy  did  not  understand,  but 
once  he  had  said  to  her  during  a  flight  of  fancy: 

"Some  day  I'm  going  to  gather  them-all  away 
from  old  Smith  Crothers  and  save  them  I" 

"Come  and  see  for  yourself,  little  Miss  Cyn." 

The  tone  was  friendly  and  kind,  and  the  actual 
necessity  of  the  future  gripped  Cynthia. 

"Come  and  see.     I  know  what  is  due  to  you  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  157 

your  folks,  Miss  Cynthia;  I  don't  ask  you  to  work 
'long  of  the  others.  I  have  work  for  you  right  in  my 
office  where  I  can  have  an  eye  to  your  comfort  and 
pleasure.  Just  copying  letters  and  addressing  envel 
opes  and  I  will  give  you"  -  Crothers  paused;  his 
sudden  desire  was  carrying  him  perilously  near  the 
danger  point  of  being  ridiculous  —  "I'll  give  you 
three  dollars  every  week.  Three  whole  dollars!" 

With  vivid  memory  Cynthia  recalled  the  long 
years  that  it  had  taken  to  earn  the  three  dollars  for 
Sandy's  venture  and  she  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"Three  whole  dollars!  And  you  can  get  down  to 
the  factory  after  you  make  the  old  lady  comfortable, 
and  I  can  let  you  have  a  little  mule  —  all  for  your 
self  —  to  tote  you  to  and  fro. " 

"It's  —  it's  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Crothers," 

Cynthia  panted;  "I'll  ask Then  of  a  sudden 

she  recollected  that  there  was  no  one  to  ask.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  was  confronted  by  an  over 
powering  condition  that  she  must  meet  alone!  Just 
then  a  sharp  touch  of  cold  struck  her  as  the  changing 
wind  found  the  thin  place  in  her  coarse  gown. 

"I'll  — I'll  come,  and  thank  you,  Mr.  Crothers," 
she  said  in  shaking  voice.  "I'll  come,  next  week!" 

"Good!"  cried  Crothers,  "and  I'll  send  up  the 
mule  —  we'll  put  its  feed  in  saddle  bags  —  I'll 
throw  that  in  and  -  -  "  the  smile  on  the  man's 
face  almost  frightened  Cynthia,  though  the  words 
that  followed  seemed  to  give  it  the  lie. 


158  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"  I'm  going  to  have  one  of  the  men  stack  wood  for 
you,  too,  and  lay  in  some  winter  vegetables.  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  badly  of  me,  little  Miss  Cyn.  I 
want  to  help  you-all." 

When  he  had  gone  Cynthia  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  shivered  as  though  some  evil  thing  had  threat 
ened  or  touched  her  in  passing,  but  an  hour  later 
she  was  thankful  her  sudden  impulse  had  led  her  to 
accept  Crothers'  offer,  for  the  wind  changed  and 
brought  from  its  new  quarter  a  biting  warning  of 
winter.  Fires  had  to  be  kindled  to  warm  the  damp, 
dreary  rooms,  and  Ann  Walden,  crouching  by  the 
blaze,  looked  gratefully  up  into  Cynthia's  face  and 
laughed  that  vacant,  childish  laugh  that  aroused  in 
the  girl  the  fear  that  youth  knows,  and  the  pity  that 
woman  learns.  And  late  that  afternoon  the  little 
doctor,  astride  her  rugged  horse,  rode  up  to  the  cabin 
of  Sally  Taber,  and  made  a  business  proposition. 

Sally  was  gathering  wood  behind  her  cabin  with  a 
feivour  born  of  fear  and  knowledge.  She  knew  what 
the  change  of  wind  meant  and  her  wood  pile  was  far 
from  satisfactory.  Long  before  Marcia  Lowe  came 
into  sight  the  old  woman  stood  up  and  listened  with 
keen,  flashing  eyes  alert. 

"Horse!"  she  muttered,  and  then  rapidly  con 
sidered  "whose  horse?" 

Not  the  old  doctor's  from  The  Forge,  for  he  never 
used  up  horseflesh  in  that  reckless  fashion.  His  circuit 
was  too  far  and  wide  for  such  foolish  extravagance. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  159 

"It's  coming  this-er-way!"  Sally  concluded,  and 
since  there  was  no  other  human  habitation  on  that 
particular  route  but  her  own  she  rightfully  appro 
priated  the  approaching  visitor.  With  a  quickness 
of  motion  one  would  not  have  suspected  in  such  an 
old  body,  the  woman  ran  into  her  cabin  and,  as  a 
society  belle  might  have  rushed  for  her  toilet  table, 
Sally  made  for  a  closet  in  the  corner  of  her  living 
room.  From  there  she  brought  forth  a  can  of  vase 
line  and  daubed  some  of  the  contents  artistically 
around  her  lips;  then  she  tied  over  her  shabby  gown 
a  clean  and  well-preserved  apron  and  smoothed  her 
thin,  white  hair. 

"Now,"  she  muttered,  composedly  taking  her 
knitting  and  sitting  before  her  hastily  replenished 
hearth-fire;  "now,  I  reckon  who-sumever  it  may  be, 
will  think  I've  had  a  po'ful  feast  o'  po'k  chops,  judg 
ing  from  my  mouf,  an'  no  quality  ain't  mo'  comfort 
able  than  I  be?" 

A  smile  of  content  spread  over  the  old  face  as  this 
vision  of  respectability  enfolded  the  poor  soul.  At 
that  moment  Marcia  Lowe  jumped  from  her  horse, 
tied  it  to  a  tree  and  came  rapidly  up  to  the  open  door. 
There  was  an  anxious  look  in  her  eyes  and  the  corners 
of  her  lips  drooped  a  trifle  more  than  they  did  when 
she  first  rode  up  The  Way.  The  life  of  The  Hollow 
was  claiming  her  as  it  had  her  uncle  before  her.  As 
she  looked  in  the  cabin  and  saw  the  composed 
figure  of  the  mistress  a  gleam  of  humour  lighted  her 


160  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

face  and  she  secretly  rebelled  at  the  sensation  of  lack 
of  ease  which  often  overcame  her  in  the  presence  of 
these  calm,  self-possessed  "poor  whites." 

"They  are  so  inhumanly  superior!"  she  thought, 
and  then  a  kindlier  feeling  came. 

"Good  afternoon,  Miss  Taber. " 

Sally  looked  up  with  an  assumed  surprise  worthy 
of  her  race  and  tradition. 

"If  it  ain't  Miss  Lowe!"  she  exclaimed,  coming 
forward  cordially.  "It  sho'  am,  Miss  Lowe!  Come 
in,  ma'am  and  rest  yourself." 

Sally's  idioms  savoured  of  darky  dialect  and  her 
mountain  quaintness: 

"I'll  brew  a  dish  o'tea,  ma'am." 

Marcia  Lowe  refused  this  attention  and  stayed 
Sally  by  her  first  words. 

"Miss  Taber,  I  want  you  to  help  me  out  with  a 
very  difficult  matter.  No  one  can  help  me  —  but 
you!" 

People  might  think  what  they  cared  to  about  this 
stranger  from  Trouble  Neck  —  the  men  still  dis 
trusted  her  —  but  the  women  were  rapidly  being 
won  to  her. 

"I  'low  you  can  count  on  me,  ma'am.  I  says  to 
myself  often,  says  I  —  Sally  Taber,  jes'  so  long  as  you 
can  make  a  friend  or  do  a  'commodation  job,  you  is 
useful  to  de  community  —  when  yo'  can't  —  why 
—  den!"  And  with  that  Sally  gave  a  "pouf !"  as  if 
blowing  away  a  feather. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  161 

Marcia  Lowe  could  not  keep  her  eyes  from  the  shin 
ing,  greased  lips;  she  was  becoming  acquainted  with 
mountain  peculiarities,  but  she  was  perplexed  by  the 
neat  Sally's  daubed  face. 

"It's  about — Miss  Walden,"  she  said  softly,  mov 
ing  her  chair  closer  to  Sally. 

"What's  happened  'long  o'  her?"  An  anxious 
look  crept  into  Sally's  eyes. 

"I  fear  —  she  is  not  exactly  right." 

"It's  in  the  family,"  Sally  murmured;  "when 
things  go  awry  'long  o'  them,  they  jes'  naturally  take 
to  queerness.  The  ole  general,  Miss  Ann's  father, 
he  done  think  he  was  God-a'mighty,  long  toward  the 
last.  I  kin  see  him  now  a-coming  up  The  Way 
blessing  us-all.  They  ain't  none  o'  them  dangerous, 
jes'  all  around  cracked,  ma'am." 

"But  the  little  girl,  Miss  Taber,  she  ought  not  to 
be  alone  there  with  Miss  Walden.  You  see  I  have 
studied  medicine  and  I  know  —  it  is  dangerous  and 
—  it  mustn't  be.  See  here!  I  cannot  do  anything 
without  making  more  trouble.  I'm  not  one  of  them, 
but  you  could  go  and  —  well,  just  take  control! 
Say  that  you  —  need  shelter  and  help  —  you  know 
Miss  Walden  would  do  anything  for  her  friends;  put 
it  that  way  and  then  ':  -  here  Marcia  Lowe  laid 
some  money  in  the  old  shrivelled  hands,  "there  will 
always  be  money  for  you  to  buy  what  is  necessary 
for  the  comfort  of  you  all." 

The  keen  eyes  glittered,  and  the  quick  mind  was 


162  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

caught  by  the  subtlety  of  the  suggestion.  Here  was  a 
chance  to  play  great  lady;  to  return  favours  that  long 
had  been  conferred  upon  her,  and  at  the  same  time 
retain  her  respectability  and  dignity.  It  was  a  mas 
ter  stroke  and  Marcia  Lowe  felt  a  glow  of  self-appre 
ciation. 

"You  can  care  for  her,  Miss  Taber;  you  can  see 
that  Cynthia  is  properly  looked  after,  and  you  can 
give  Miss  Walden  the  joy  of  her  life  in  thinking  that 
she  is  able  to  help  you.  It  is  a  pardonable  bit  of 
deceit,  but  will  you  assist  me?" 

After  a  decent  show  of  hesitation,  Sally  decided 
that  she  would  and,  at  the  close  of  the  afternoon, 
was  seated  behind  the  little  doctor  —  with  her 
pitiful  store  of  clothing,  jogging  in  a  bundle  at  her 
back,  on  the  way  to  Stoneledge.  Miss  Lowe  set  her 
down  at  the  trail  leading  up  to  the  old  crumbling 
house,  with  these  words: 

"If  ever  my  uncle  did  a  kind  deed  for  you,  Miss 
Taber,  do  this  for  him  now. " 

Toting  up  the  hill,  Sally's  thoughts  wandered  back 
to  Theodore  Starr  and  settled  on  a  certain  dark, 
cold  night  when  he  sat  in  her  cabin  piling  the  wood  on 
her  fire,  while  she  lay  shivering  with  chill  upon  her 
wretched  bed.  All  the  charms  had  failed,  the  rabbit 
foot,  under  the  dripping  of  the  north  end  of  the  roof? 
had  not  eased  a  single  pang,  and  hope  was  about 
gone  when  Starr  chanced  by.  He  had  meant  to 
ask  for  a  bite  and  a  night's  shelter,  for  he  was  worn 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  163 

by  travel  and  service,  but  instead  he  sat  beside  her 
the  night  through  and  fought  death  by  the  bravery 
of  his  spirit  and  the  homely  task  of  keeping  warm, 
the  shivering  body.  He  had  put  his  coat  over  her 
and  aroused  her  to  interest  and  courage. 

"The  Lord  does  not  let  one  of  us  off  until  our  day's 
work  is  done,"  he  had  said  even  when  he  himself 
feared  Sally's  duties  were  over. 

"An'  mighty  right  He  war',"  Sally  now  muttered, 
panting  up  the  last  rise.  "I  reckon  I  got  something 
yet  to  do. " 

Her  advent  at  Stoneledge  was  nothing  less  than 
consummate  acting.  Knocking  at  the  kitchen  door 
she  responded  to  the  call  from  within  and  stood  before 
Ann  Walden  crouching  by  the  fire,  and  Cynthia 
awkwardly  trying  to  evolve  an  evening  meal  from 
some  materials  on  the  table. 

"Miss  Ann,  I've  come  to  ax  mercy  o*  you." 

Miss  Walden  laughed  foolishly. 

"Everything  is  plumb  gone  an'  I  got  to  tell  some 
one  o'  my  misery.  Nothing  to  eat;  nothing  to  hold 
onto  'cept  a  trifle  o'  money  what  I'se  afraid  to  let 
any  one  know  I'se  got.  Miss  Ann,  chile,  there  ain't 
any  one  goin'  to  be  s'prised  at  money  coming  from 
the  Great  House,  so  jes'  let  me  bide  long  o'  you  an* 
HI'  miss,  for  God's  sake,  ma'am." 

The  old  tie  between  the  family  and  its  dependents 
held  true  now  even  through  the  growing  mists  of 
Ann  Walden's  brain. 


164  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Cyn,"  she  commanded,  "get  Ivy  —  where  is 
Ivy?  Tell  her  to  make  up  a  bed  for  Sally  in  the  loft 
over  the  kitchen." 

And  then  again  she  laughed  that  meaningless 
laugh. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IFE  in  the  Morley  cabin  was  tense  and  dan 
gerously  vital.  The  cold  had  settled  down 
now  with  serious  intent;  the  door  was  per 
manently  closed  except  of  entrances  and  exits  and 
the  two  small  sliding  windows  in  the  front  and  back 
of  the  living-room  were  never  opened,  and  they  were 
coated  with  grease  and  dirt  until  even  the  brightest 
day  filtered  through  but  dimly. 

Martin  was  depressed  and  forlorn,  he  took  what 
was  offered  him,  asked  no  questions  and  seemed  far 
and  away  from  any  hope  of  reasserting  himself.  He 
brought  water  and  wood  indoors;  he  made  and  kept 
the  fire;  he  slept  on  the  settle  before  the  hearth  and 
always  he  was  dreaming  or  thinking  of  Sandy.  The 
letter  that  had,  after  many  weeks,  drifted  to  him,  had 
been  read  to  him  by  The  Forge  doctor  who  hap 
pened  to  be  riding  by  when  Martin  tremblingly 
pleaded  with  him  for  help. 

"It's  this-er-way, "  Morley  had  explained,  striving 
to  hide  the  depths  of  his  illiteracy;  "my  eyes  don' 
gone  back  on  me.  I  reckon  I  better  go  down  to 
The  Forge  and  get  specs,  but  jes'  now  I'd  like  to  have 
light  on  this  yere  letter. " 

165 


166  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  doctor  read  poor  Sandy's  effusion  with  some 
emotion.  With  broader  experience  he  saw  the  effort 
the  boy  had  made  to  withhold  his  own  lonely  state 
from  the  father.  There  was  an  attempt  at  cheer  in 
the  words  weighted,  as  the  reader  saw,  with  home 
sickness  and  longing. 

"Now,  Morley, "  he  cautioned,  when  the  letter  was 
ended,  "you  keep  your  hands  off  that  boy.  If  there 
is  a  spark  of  love  for  him  in  your  heart,  let  him  fight 
his  battle  off  there  alone.  He's  found  a  good  friend 
and  it's  his  one  chance.  If  you  want  to  do  anything 
for  him  keep  yourself  above  water;  have  the  family 
respectable  for  him  to  come  back  to.  I'm  not  much 
on  prophesying,  but  remembering  what  you  once 
were  and  what  his  mother  was,  I  have  hopes  of 
Sandy." 

No  one  knew  or  could  have  guessed  that  poor 
Martin  was  heeding  the  doctor's  words,  but  he  was. 
He  had  stopped  drinking.  Not  a  drop  of  liquor  had 
passed  his  lips  for  weeks,  and  the  craving  was  stron 
ger  at  times  than  Martin  could  endure.  At  such 
moments  he  stole  to  the  outshed  and,  gripping  a 
certain  little  ragged  jacket,  which  still  hung  there, 
to  his  twitching  face,  would  moan:  "Oh!  God,  help 
me  for  Sandy's  sake."  Not  for  his  own  —  but  for 
Sandy's  sake  always.  And  God  heard  and  upheld 
the  weak  creature. 

Then  came  the  night  when  Mary  and  Molly 
aroused  Martin  from  his  sleep  as  they  came  in  about 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  167 

midnight.  Martin  had  supposed  them  upstairs 
long  before.  He  had  come  in  at  nine  o'clock  from  the 
shed  where  he  had  wrestled  with  his  craving  and, 
by  the  help  of  God,  had  come  out  victorious  once 
again.  He  had  fallen  asleep  soon  after  and  a  vivid 
and  strange  dream  had  held  him  captive  by  its  power. 
Sandy  had  come  to  him  clearly,  and  comfortingly; 
had  sat  close  to  him  and  laid  hk  hand  in  his.  They 
had  talked  familiarly,  and  then  suddenly  the  boy  had 
asked: 

"Dad,  how  about  Molly?  She  belongs  to  us-all, 
you  said.  I've  been  thinking  about  Molly;  where 
is  she?" 

Just  then  the  dream  faded;  the  man  on  the  hard 
settle  pulled  himself  up,  looked  dazedly  at  the  almost 
dead  fire  and  —  listened !  Some  one  was  fumbling  at 
the  door;  some  one  was  coming  in!  Martin's  heart 
stood  still  for,  with  the  dream  fresh  in  his  mind,  he 
thought  it  was  Sandy,  and  even  through  his  sick 
longing  for  the  boy  a  fear  seized  him.  But  Mary 
came  into  the  dim  room  with  Molly  clinging  to  her. 
They  tiptoed  across  the  floor  toward  the  stairway 
and  had  almost  reached  it  when  Martin  flung  a  log 
of  wood  on  the  fire,  and  in  the  quick  flash  of  light 
that  followed  stood  up  and  asked  in  a  clear,  forceful 
voice : 

"Wharyou-allbeen?" 

The  strangeness  and  surprise  took  Mary  off  her 
guard,  and  she  faltered: 


i68  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"What's  that  to  you,  Mart  Morley?" 

Martin  threw  another  log  on  the  fire,  as  if  by  so 
doing  he  could  illuminate  more  than  the  cold  black 
room. 

"What  yo-all  been  doing?     Molly,  come  here." 

Frightened  and  trembling  the  girl  came  forward. 
She  looked  far  older  than  her  years.  Her  bold,  coarse 
beauty  had  developed  amazingly  during  the  past 
few  months,  and  the  expression  on  her  face  now 
roused  all  the  dormant  manhood  in  Morley's  nature. 
Ignoring  the  woman  by  the  stairway,  he  gripped 
Molly  by  the  shoulders,  and  holding  her  so  that  the 
lurid  light  of  the  flaming  logs  fell  upon  her,  he  drove 
his  questions  into  the  girl's  consciousness  and 
brought  alarmed  truth  forth  before  a  lie  could  master 
it. 

"Whar  yo'  been,  Molly?" 

"Up  to  —  toTeale's." 

"What  — doing?" 

"Dancing  for  'em." 

Martin's  eyes  flashed.  It  was  quite  plain  to  him 
now  —  the  hideous,  drunken  orgy,  and  this  little 
girl  fanning  ugly  passions  into  fire  by  her  youth  and 
beauty! 

"You "  Morley  rarely  swore,  but  the  elo 
quent  pause  was  more  thrilling  than  the  word  he 
might  have  spoken.  WThile  he  clutched  Molly,  his 
infuriated  eyes  held  Mary  like  something  tangible, 
and  drew  her  forth  from  her  shadows. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  169 

"She's  —  mine!"  the  woman  panted.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life  she  was  awed  by  Morley;  "she's 
mine  and  —  the  devil's.  That  was  the  bargain  and 
no  questions  asked.  The  devil  pays  good  wages, 
Mart.  We'll  —  we'll  share  with  you!" 

The  woman  was  actually  whining  and  seeking  to 
propitiate  the  man. 

"I've  been  true  to  you,  Mart.  Sure  as  God  hears 
me,  and  'taint  cause  I'm  old  and  unsought  either. 
I'll  look  after  her,  Mart  —  but  —  we-all  have  got 
to  live!" 

Morley  tried  to  control  himself  before  he  spoke, 
and  finally  managed  to  say,  not  unkindly: 

"Molly,  you  go  upstairs.  Shut  —  shut  and  lock 
the  door!" 

"Mart!"  Genuine  terror  rang  in  Mary's  tones. 
"Mart  —  she's  mine  and - 

"Go!"  commanded  Morley,  and  the  child  almost 
ran  to  do  his  bidding.  Then  alone  the  man  and 
woman  faced  each  other.  Desperation  gave  cour 
age  to  Mary.  If  all  were  lost  but  her  physical 
strength  and  bravado,  then  she  must  use  them. 

"You  did  what  you  wanted  to  do  with  him  as 
was  yours,"  she  panted;  "you  helped  him  away, 
and  left  us-all  to  starve.  You  leave  —  Molly  to 
me  and 

"Stop!"  cried  Morley, unable  to  hear  the  brutal 
repetition.  "You  would  sell  the  —  the  child  to  Teale 
and  his  kind?" 


170  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"It's  the  only  way,  Mart.  I'll  keep  my  hold  on 
her  —  they " 

"You!"  And  then,  driven  by  the  outraged  virtue 
of  the  suppressed  and  forgotten  past,  Morley  gave 
expression  to  his  emotions  in  the  language  of  The 
Hollow.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  struck  a 
woman! 

Once  the  deed  was  done  he  reeled  back,  calmed  at 
once  into  frozen  horror.  Mary  staggered  and  fell. 
In  falling  she  struck  her  head  against  the  andirons 
on  the  hearth  and  lay  quite,  quite  still  while  a  stream 
of  blood  from  a  cut  behind  the  left  ear  mingled  with 
the  ashes  and  turned  them  dark  and  moist.  It 
seemed  hours  that  Morley  looked  and  looked  before 
he  could  master  himself  and  move  toward  the  woman 
upon  the  floor.  Finally  he  listened  to  her  heart,  but 
his  own  pulsing  ears  deceived  him;  he  tried  to  raise 
her  up,  but  his  strength  was  gone,  and  he  let  the  life 
less  body  drop  again  on  the  hearth.  Then  a  craven 
desperation  overcame  him.  Gone  were  his  courage 
and  power,  like  a  maddened  criminal  he  strode  to 
the  stairway  and  wrenched  the  locked  door  from 
its  hinges  and  sprang  up  to  where  Molly,  sobbing 
and  moaning,  crouched  in  the  far  corner. 

"Come,"  he  whispered;  "come!" 

"Where's  — mother?" 

"Her's  gone  —  to  —  Teale!"  The  lie  rang  out 
fiercely,  boldly.  Then  wrapping  an  old  bedspread 
about  Molly  and  keeping  her  close  to  him,  he  made 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  171 

his  way  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house. 
Molly  did  not  turn  to  look  into  the  lower  room,  she 
believed  Martin,  and  she  was  numb  with  terror. 

"Whar  we-all  going?"  she  panted,  as  Martin 
dragged  her  on.  This  question  roused  Morley. 
Up  to  that  instant  he  had  not  considered  where  he 
was  going;  he  only  felt  the  necessity  of  flight. 

"To  —  to  Trouble  Neck,"  he  answered  as  if  some 
one  else  were  speaking  through  him. 

"To  her  as  —  as  they  call  the  Cup-o'-Cold-Water 
Lady." 

Molly  did  not  speak  again,  but  the  answer  had 
stilled  somewhat  her  fear  and  anguish.  By  the 
time  she  and  Martin  reached  the  Trouble  Neck 
cabin  her  uncanny  shrewdness  and  cunning  were  well 
to  the  fore. 

The  little  clock  on  the  mantelshelf  had  just  struck 
two  when  Marcia  Lowe  raised  her  tired  eyes  from 
the  book  spread  out  on  the  table  before  her. 

The  one  large  room  of  the  cabin  was  kitchen, 
dining-room,  parlour,  library;  all  that  was  not  in 
cluded  in  bed-chamber.  The  lean-to  was  Marcia 
Lowe's  sleeping  apartment  and  a  tiny  room  above 
reached  only  by  a  ladder  from  outside,  served  as  a 
trim,  cleanly  resting-place  for  a  chance  guest  or  a 
needy  traveller. 

The  little  doctor  lifted  her  aching  eyes  and  took  in 
the  rude  comfort  of  her  home-place  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"Oh!"  she  whispered  —  for  she  had  adopted  the 


t/2  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

compromise  of  the  lonely  woman  and  talked  aloud 
to  herself  —  "oh!  if  they  could  forget  my  sex!" 

She  was  thinking  of  a  conversation  she  had  had 
with  The  Forge  doctor  that  very  day. 

"I  —  I  wish  you  would  work  with  me,"  she  had 
pleaded;  "they  would  accept  you;  obey  what  you 
say  and  —  give  me  a  chance." 

The  doctor  had  laughed  good-naturedly.  Miss 
Lowe  amused  him  hugely.  She  seemed  to  him  like 
a  child  playing  with  sugar  and  bread  pills. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  had  said;  "they'd 
shoot  me,  and  with  good  reason,  if  I  let  any  petticoat 
Saw  Bones  tamper  with  them;  no  insult  intended  • — 
only  compliment,  dear  lady!  Your  books  read  like 
fairy  stories;  I'm  too  old  a  hand  to  be  taken  in.  The 
revised  Bible,  ma'am,  is  dangerous  for  souls,  and 
new  ideas  in  physic  are  about  the  same  for  bodies. 
I  read  when  I  can  —  but  I'm  too  human  to  experi 
ment  on  my  kind.  A  few  old  remedies  and  a  good 
stiff  bluff  are  all  that  are  needed  up-er-here.  Now  as 
to  you,  my  dear  young  miss,  I'd  have  to  put  you 
under  lock  and  key  or  buy  you  a  return  ticket  to  that 
fly-in-the-face-of-Providence  state  of  yours  if  you 
tampered  with  the  bodies  of  these  people.  That 
uncle  of  yours  juggled  considerable  in  his  day,  but 
souls  are  one  thing;  bodies,  another." 

Marcia  Lowe  now  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
tired  head  and  raised  her  eyes  to  the  low  ceiling. 

"Just    for    one    faithful    soul!"    she    murmured; 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  173 

"no,  one  faithful  body  that  would  trust  itself  to  me 
for  —  a  month;  a  month!  A  few  days  of  starvation; 
a  magic  little  pill;  a  spell  of  patient  waiting  and 
then  —  a  miracle." 

But  no  response  came  from  the  stillness  of  the 
night  and  Miss  Lowe  was  about  to  make  preparations 
for  bed  when  a  sound  outside  stayed  her.  Then 
came  a  knock  on  the  door!  She  went  to  the  small 
window  beside  the  door,  drew  aside  the  dainty  white 
curtain,  opened  it  halfway  and  asked: 

"Is  that  you,  Hope?"  She  had  promised  Liza 
to  bide  with  her  when  her  hour  came,  but  it  was  not 
Hope  who  replied: 

"This  is  Martin  Morley,  ma'am.  Me  and  HI' 
Molly." 

The  door  was  opened  at  once  and  closed  after  the 
two. 

"Now,"  said  the  little  doctor,  stirring  the  fire  to 
greater  effort  and  seeing  that  her  callers  had  the 
easiest  chairs  in  the  room,  "now,  then,  Mr.  Morley." 

Molly  followed  every  motion  of  Marcia  Lowe  with 
unchildlike  interest.  Fear  was  gone  from  the  girl's 
face,  but  an  alert  sharpness  marked  it. 

"Can  you  give  her,"  Martin  nodded  toward 
Molly,  "a  bed  for  —  for  to-night?  I  have  some 
thing  to  tell  you." 

Marcia  Lowe  sensed  that  something  serious  lay 
behind  the  request,  and  ros*  at  once  and  went  to 
Molly. 


174  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Come  into  my  bedroom,"  she  said;  "I  can  make 
you  very  comfy,  I'm  sure.  Will  you  sleep  with  me?" 

Molly  nodded  and  followed  meekly.  After  a 
time  Marcia  Lowe  came  back  and,  standing  in  front 
of  Morley,  said  quickly: 

"What  is  it?" 

The  haggard,  haunted  face  was  raised  to  her. 

"I've  —  I've  done  killed  Mary!"  he  said  simply. 

The  little  doctor  shuddered,  but  controlled  her 
features;  her  eyes  did  not  fall  from  the  wretched 
man's  face. 

"Tell  me!"  was  all  she  said.  Then  Martin  slowly 
in  a  hushed  voice,  described  all  that  had  passed,  even 
the  vision  of  Sandy. 

"The  Lord-a'mighty,  He  knows  I  didn't  mean  to 
kill,"  Martin  quivered;  "but  who-all  will  believe 
that?  I  meant  to  stay  clean  and  fair  for  the  boy's 
coming  back,  Miss  Lowe,  ma'am,  deed  I  did,  and 

now  he'll  come  back  to 5:  Martin  could  not 

frame  the  hideous  truth  in  words;  he  gulped  mis 
erably  and  went  on;  "please,  ma'am,  keep  —  her, 
Molly,  from  Teale  and  them-all!" 

"And  you?"  So  simply  did  the  question  come 
that  the  man  replied  in  kind. 

"I  —  I  can't  let  them-all  cotch  me,  ma'am.  Come 
morning,  I'll  be  past  hurting  any  one,  more." 

The  childlike  pathos  in  this  criminal's  voice  and 
attitude  confused  the  listener.  For  the  life  of  her 
she  could  not  deal  with  the  situation  in  any  ordinary 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  ,75 

fashion;  it  seemed  like  a  dramatic  incident  bungled 
by  amateurs.  Presently  she  asked  gently: 

"Are  you  sure  she  is  dead,  Mr.  Morley?" 

The  unreality  held  Martin,  too. 

"I  reckon  she  is,"  he  faltered;  "I  —  I  couldn't 
hear  her  heart  —  and  she  laid  right  still.  I  expect 
she  is  dead." 

The  ludicrous  overpowered  even  the  turn  of  possi 
bility,  and  the  little  doctor  said: 

"You  just  mustn't  kill  yourself  or  harm  Sandy 
unless  it  is  necessary,  you  know.  If  you  will  go  out 
and  harness  my  horse  to  the  buggy,  you  and  I  will 
make  sure." 

By  the  time  Morley  had  mechanically  fulfilled 
these  commands,  Marcia  Lowe  ha^  decided,  from 
the  sound  of  Molly's  breathing,  that  she  might  safely 
be  left  alone,  and,  cloaked  and  hooded,  joined  Mar 
tin  outside. 

It  was  a  dreary  ride,  and  the  two  spoke  seldom. 

"You  are  to  be  no  coward,  Morley,"  Marcia 
Lowe  had  said;  "you're  to  face  your  future  like  a 
man  —  like  Sandy's  father.  He  will  well  under 
stand.  I  will  stand  by  you  and  see  fair  play  for  you; 
I'll  pay  for  a  good  lawyer,  and  you  will  take  your 
medicine,  whatever  it  is,  and  be  clean  and  decent  for 
your  boy  and  girl.  I'll  take  care  of  Molly." 

After  a  time  Martin  agreed  to  this,  but  from  the 
shivering  of  the  form  beside  her,  the  little  doctor 
realized  the  struggle. 


176  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

And  so  they  reached  Morley's  cabin  and  entered, 
like  ghosts,  into  the  fear-haunted  place.  Mary  was 
gone.  The  fire  was  smouldering  in  the  last  flashes, 
the  damp  ashes  were  drying  —  but  Mary  had  made 
A  bodily  escape. 

"So!"  whispered  Marcia  Lowe.  "It  was  better 
to  make  sure.  Go  upstairs,  see  if  she  is  there.'* 

Mary  was  not  there. 

"Now  come  back." 

Through  the  chill  of  the  early  morning  the  two 
drove  silently  back  to  Trouble  Neck  and  with 
strange  foreboding  the  little  doctor  made  her  way  at 
once  to  the  lean-to  bed-chamber  —  Molly,  too,  was 
gone!  She  had  made  her  way  to  Teale's,  Miss  Lowe 
felt  sure. 

The  next  morning  the  news  spread  fast,  garbled 
by  many  tongues. 

Teale's  place  had  been  raided!  Teale  had  es 
caped  and  the  Morleys  had  accompanied  him. 

"Well!"  said  Sally  Taber  to  Cynthia;  "I  'spect 
Mart  Morley  had  to  get  his  livin'  somehow.  The 
yaller  streak's  got  the  best  of  him." 

Cynthia  made  no  reply.  Oddly  enough  in  her 
fancy  she  was  gazing  upon  the  portrait  of  "  The  Big 
gest  of  Them  All." 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARTIN  MORLEY  slept  in  the  clean  loft 
over  Marcia  Lowe's  living-room.  There 
was  a  good  warm  bed  there,  and  before 
he  had  gone  up  the  ladder  to  his  much-needed 
rest,  the  little  doctor  had  fed  him  and  given  him  hot 
coffee  to  drink. 

"You  are  safe,"  she  had  comforted  him.  "God 
has  been  good  to  you,  Martin  Morley.  Molly  is 
with  her  mother  and,  sad  as  it  is,  we  can  do  nothing 
more  for  her.  Forget  it  all,  and  to-morrow  you  and 
I  will  consider  the  future." 

So  Martin  slept  and  slept,  and  the  front  door  of 
the  cabin  was  kept  closed  and  locked. 

Refreshed  and  humble,  Martin,  on  the  evening  of 
the  following  day,  cautiously  crept  down  the  ladder 
from  his  loft-chamber  and  tapped  upon  the  outer 
door  of  the  cabin. 

It  was  a  very  smiling  and  trim  little  body  that  wel 
comed  him  and  bade  him  sit  down  to  a  table  laid  for 
an  evening  meal. 

"You  see  I've  waited  for  you,  Mr.  Morley;  we 
have  a  slice  of  ham,  some  hot  biscuits,  and  baked 
potatoes.  There's  a  loaf  of  cake,  too,  and  coffee  and 

177 


178  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

a  try  at  a  pudding  for  which  my  mother  used  to  be 
famous." 

Every  nerve  of  Martin's  starved  stomach  thrilled, 
but  his  eyes  did  not  meet  Marcia  Lowe's. 

"You  are  feeling  better,  Martin  Morley?" 

"Yes,  ma'am;  thank  you,  ma'am.'* 

"Well,  then  I  want  you  to  share  my  meal." 

"I  —  I  ain't  worthy,  ma'am.  I  can  never  pay 
you,  ma'am,  for  what  you've  done  and  meant  to  me. 
I'm  ready  to  go  now,  ma'am." 

"Where,  Martin  Morley?"  The  little  doctor  was 
pouring  the  coffee,  and  the  odour  made  Morley  dizzy 
with  longing. 

"I  ain't  just  settled  in  my  mind  as  to  that,  ma'am. 
The  world's  big,  beyond  The  Hollow." 

"Too  big  for  you,  Mr.  Morley,  until  you  are  your 
self  —  your  best  self  again.  And  you  can  pay  me  — 
I  have  my  bill  ready." 

Martin  eyed  her  furtively  and  tried  to  steady  his 
hand  as  he  reached  out  for  the  plate  of  savoury  food 
she  was  passing  to  him.  They  ate  silently  for  a 
while,  then  Marcia  Lowe  tried  to  cheer  him  by  scraps 
of  gossip  that  had  drifted  to  her  during  the  day. 

"They  think  you  have  gone  with  Teale, "  she  said 
with  a  little  laugh;  "the  idea  of  your  flying  off  in 
that  company!  Have  another  potato,  Mr.  Morley; 
the  staying  power  of  a  baked  potato  is  simply  mar 
vellous.  " 

When  the  meal  was  finished  and  the  dishes  put 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  179 

away,Marcia  Lowe  faced  her  gloomy  guest  with  deep, 
serious  eyes. 

"You  feel  you  owe  me  something,  Mr.  Morley?" 
she  asked.  They  were  sitting  opposite  each  other 
by  the  hearth;  a  pouring  rain  dashed  against  the 
window  and  a  rising  wind  howled  through  the  trees. 
A  sleek  yellow  cat  turned  around  two  or  three  times 
and  then  settled  comfortably  at  Marcia  Lowe's  feet 
and  purred  happily. 

"I  do  that,  mum." 

"You  are  —  willing  to  do  something  for  me  — 
for  Sandy,  but  most  of  all  for  yourself?" 

Morley  was  becoming  accustomed  to  the  little 
doctor's  quaint  way  of  putting  questions,  but  her 
manner  still  puzzled  him. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  answered  confusedly. 

"Then  listen,  Martin  Morley.  I  want  to  save 
you,  first  of  all  for  yourself  —  next  for  that  boy  of 
yours,  who,  I  somehow  feel  confident,  will  come  back 
to  honour  us  all.  I  believe  I  can  do  what  I  have  in 
mind  —  there  is  a  little  risk,  very  little,  but  will  you 
run  it  for  me?" 

Morley's  thin  face  twitched.  Many  emotions 
swayed  him.  Doubt,  suspicion,  superstition,  the  in 
grained  revolt  of  sex  —  the  male  resenting  this  power 
of  the  female  —  all,  all  held  part  in  Morley's  mind, 
weakened  by  trouble  and  malnutrition,  but  above  all 
was  the  innate  yearning  to  prove  himself  for  Sandy. 
Martin  had  the  supreme  instinct  of  parenthood. 


i8o  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"You  know  you  were  willing  to  die  for  him,  Mr. 
Morley.  Are  you  not  willing  to  run  the  chance  of  a 
better,  cleaner  life?" 

Marcia  Lowe  was  bending  forward  now,  her  face 
radiant  and  inspired  —  she  looked  young,  lovely  and 
compassionate. 

"I  —  I  —  don't  follow  you,  ma'am. "  Poor  Martin 
was  caught  in  the  toils  of  the  enthusiast. 

"Then  listen.  I  have  studied  and — conquered  to  a 
certain  extent — a  great  and  noble  help  for  humanity 
—  but  I  am  hampered  in  my  work  because  I  am  a 
woman.  Oh!  no  one  —  no  man  can  understand  how 
terrible  it  is  for  us  women  to  look  beyond  the  man 
and  woman  part  of  life  and  see  human  beings  needing 
us,  crying  out  to  us,  and  for  us,  to  realize  that  often 
we  might  help,  in  our  own  way  best  of  all  —  if  only 
something,  over  which  we  have  no  control,  did  not 
bar  us.  You  see,  men  have  no  right  to  deprive  hu 
man  beings  of  any  assistance  the  world  can  give. 
If  we  women  tell  men  of  our  hopes  and  our  beliefs, 
they  accept  or  decline  as  they  think  best  —  and  so 
much  is  lost!  Why,  I  have  been  pleading  with  The 
Forge  doctor  ever  since  I  came,  to  work  with  me  in 
doing  what  I  long  to  do,  and  he  will  not  —  he  laughs! 
I  am  not  rich  enough  or  important  enough  to  bring  a 
big  doctor  from  my  home  to  do  this  thing  for  you, 
all  that  I  could  do  alone.  So  here  I  stand  with,  I 
solemnly  believe,  a  precious  gift  and  I  —  I  —  cannot 
give  it  to  you  because  —  you  won't  trust  a  woman!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  181 

Marcia  Lowe  was  talking  far  and  beyond  Morley; 
he  stared  bewildered  at  her,  but  something  within 
himself  was  reaching  out  and  touching,  with  soul- 
intensity,  the  tragic  appeal  from  the  little  woman 
opposite. 

"Uncle  Theodore  Starr  came  here  because  he  loved 
his  kind  and  felt  that  you  all  needed  him  most. 
Because  you  had  no  choice,  he  believed  you  would 
accept  him.  Can  you  remember  how  he  worked 
among  you?  served  you  and  died  for  you?" 

"I  —  do,  mum!"  An  old  sense  of  gratitude  gave 
force  to  the  words. 

"Well,  I  feel  as  he  did,  only  I  want  to  mend  your 
poor,  sick  bodies;  make  you  strong  enough  to  want 
to  help  yourselves  like  men  and  women !  I  want  you 
to  know  that  you  have  souls. " 

But  now  Martin  was  lost  again.  The  stare  settled 
on  his  face  and  only  the  hypnotism  of  the  woman 
across  the  hearth  guided  him.  Marcia  Lowe  saw 
this,  and  grew  desperate. 

"Oh!  dear,  what  shall  I  do?"  she  cried  helplessly. 
"Can  I  say  anything  that  will  make  you  understand? 
The  thing  I  have  is  safe  and  sure.  It  might  go  wrong 
with  you  —  only  might  —  but  I  want,  I  must  have, 
your  consent.  Just  suppose  it  did  go  wrong  with 
you,  but  that  you  knew  it  would  help  hundreds 
of  others  —  would  you  be  willing  to  try?" 

Morley  did  not  attempt  an  answer. 

"Let  me  put  it  another  way!"  and  now  the  little 


1 82  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

doctor  arose  and  stood  in  the  full  glow  of  the  fire, 
while  the  roar  of  the  wind  and  the  flaring  of  the  red 
light  filled  the  room  with  sound  and  colour.  The 
slim,  pale  woman  looked  very  weak  and  small  to  be 
the  leading  actor  in  this  tragic  drama  of  the  hills,  and 
the  big,  stupidly  staring  man  opposite  seemed  very 
insignificant  as  a  great  sacrifice. 

"See,  I  will  put  it  this  way.  They  call  me  the 
Cup-o'-Cold-Water  Lady  because  —  I  give  them 
all  a  little  drink  of  water  and  it  makes  them  better! 
I  made  the  little  Hope  boy  well;  ask  Liza,  she 
knows.  I  gave  your  Sandy  a  cup  of  cold  water  and 
it  helped  his  throat  —  I  could  have  helped  him  more, 
poor  boy,  if  he  had  not  gone  away.  Martin  Morley, 
I  want  to  give  you  a  cup  of  cold  water  —  oh!  please 
trust  me!  You  must  do  what  I  ask  you  to  do  — 
just  for  one  little  week.  It  will  be  hard,  but  I  will 
watch  with  you  and  share  every  suffering  hour.  I 
will  nurse  you  and  care  for  you  as  a  daughter  might, 
and  then,  at  the  end,  I  believe  as  truly  as  God  hears 
me,  that  you  will  stand  straight  and  take  your  place 
—  your  place  —  among  men!" 

"A  charm?"  Morley  panted,  for  he  was  quite 
overcome  by  the  power  exerted  over  him. 

Full  of  zeal  and  trust,  seizing  upon  anything  to 
gain  her  end,  Marcia  Lowe  replied: 

"Exactly  —  a  charm!  See!"  and  suddenly  she 
turned  to  the  closet  beside  the  chimney-place;  taking 
out  a  small  bottle  she  held  it  up  to  the  light  with  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  183 

glow  of  reverence  upon  her  uplifted  face.  "Fifteen 
tiny  grains  of  this!" 

Morley  was  fascinated. 

"Fifteen  grains,"  he  repeated,  like  a  man  talking 
in  his  sleep  —  "fifteen  grains!" 

"Yes,  yes!  and  then  you  must  have  —  faith! 
You  know  you  always  must  have  faith  in  charms." 

Morley  assented  to  this. 

"Will  —  you  —  will  you  try?" 

"I  —  reckon  I  will,  mum!" 

"Will  you  promise?  Oh!  If  I  have  ever  done 
anything  to  make  you  grateful,  promise!  promise!" 

"I  promise!" 

From  that  night  the  cure  began.  Shut  away 
against  the  mountain-world,  favoured  by  one  of  the 
hill  storms,  prolonged  and  depressing,  the  little  doc 
tor  tested  her  charm.  She  was  nurse  and  companion 
as  well  as  physician.  Willing  to  do  battle  and  take 
the  consequences  for  the  faith  that  was  in  her,  she 
wrestled  with  her  problem.  Men  had  proven  the 
thing  elsewhere  —  why  not  she,  here  among  her 
dead  uncle's  people? 

"You  cannot  eat  until  I  tell  you  to,  Martin  Mor 
ley,"  she  said. 

For  the  first  day  or  so  the  weakened  man,  used 
to  deprivation,  made  no  demur;  then  his  haggard 
face  and  imploring  eyes  pleaded  for  food,  and  on  the 
third  day  he  asked  for  it,  cried  for  it  like  a  starving 
child.  This  wrung  Marcia  Lowe's  heart. 


184  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh!  we  women,"  she  whispered  to  herself  scorn 
fully;  "I  declare  I  must  put  a  watch  upon  myself  or 
I  will  find  myself  going  to  the  cupboard  and  betray 
ing  the  faith  of  Doctor  Marcia  Lowe!" 

Then  she  resorted  to  subterfuge,  and  playfully 
bullied  poor  Morley. 

"See!  If  I  do  not  eat,  can  you  not  keep  me  com 
pany?  What  manners  have  you,  Martin  Morley, 
to  eat  while  a  lady  starves?" 

The  wretched  fellow  tried  to  smile,  but  wept  in 
stead. 

After  that, Marcia  Lowe  rarely  left  the  room;  never 
unless  Morley  slept.  She  stole  like  a  thief  to  her 
closet  and  ate  her  food  when,  and  as  she  could. 

"It's  the  nurse  of  Martin  Morley  who  refreshes 
herself,"  she  thought  comfortingly. 

It  was  on  the  fifth  evening  of  the  battle  with  the 
deadly  foe  of  the  mountain  poor-whites,  that  Maicia 
Lowe  heard  a  knock  upon  her  cabin  door.  So  alone 
and  absorbed  had  she  been  for  the  past  few  days 
that  a  demand  from  the  outer  world  startled  and 
annoyed  her.  Martin  was  sleeping  —  he  lay  in  the 
lean-to  chamber  —  so  on  tiptoe  the  little  doctor 
went  to  answer  the  summons. 

The  storm  had  passed  unnoticed  by  Marcia  Lowe, 
and  a  bright  starry  heaven  lay  behind  the  tall  figure 
of  Tod  Greeley  on  the  doorstep. 

"Oh!  Come  in,  come  in!"  whispered  Marcia  — 
and  oddly  enough  she  felt  a  glow  of  relief  and  wel- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  185 

come.  Greeley  came  in  and  grimly  took  a  chair  by 
the  cheerful  fire  on  the  ashless  hearth. 

"I've  come  on  a  mighty  unpleasant  errand, 
ma'am,"  he  said;  "and  I  ain't  one  as  can  pass  around 
sweets  before  the  bitters." 

All  the  way  to  Trouble  Neck  Greeley  had  arranged 
this  speech,  and  the  medical  flavour  of  it  had  given 
him  courage. 

"You're  very  kind  to  come  yourself,  Mr.  Greeley," 
Marcia  Lowe  was  smiling;  "another  might  not  have 
been  so  welcome.  And  now  for  the  bitter!  I'll 
gulp  it  bravely,  for  I  like  sweets  better." 

She  sat  down  in  her  own  rough  little  rocker,  and 
swayed  calmly  to  and  fro. 

"Well,  mum,  the  County  Club,  in  session  down  to 
the  store,  delegated  me  to  call  on  you.  Leastway,  I 
done  told  them  I  reckoned  no  one  else  but  me  should 
come  first!" 

"Thank  you  again,  Mr.  Greeley." 

"Since  the  raid  on  Teale's "  Tod  drawled 

uncomfortably  —  "there's  them  as  is  scared.  I 
ain't  standing  up  or  setting  down  for  them  Speak 
Easies  back  o'  The  Hollow,  but  business  is  bus 
iness,  and  no  man  knows  who's  going  to  get 

struck  so  long  as "  Greeley  glanced  cautiously 

about  —  "so  long  as  —  you're  hiding  what  you  are 
hiding!" 

For  a  moment  Marcia  Lowe  tried  to  read 
just  her  thoughts  and  get  them  into  some  sort  of 


186  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

connection;  finally  she  laughed,  laughed  so  long  and 
so  noiselessly  that  Greeley  grew  nervous. 

"Lord,  ma'am!"  he  faltered,  "you  can't  afford 
to  take  it  that-er-way  lest  you've  got  your  place  full 
of 'em!" 

"Oh!  Mr.  Greeley.  They  think,  the  club  thinks 
I  have  something  to  do  with  the  raid?  Why  I  did 
not  know,  until  some  one  told  me,  that  there  had 
been  one.  Come,  I  want  you  to  see  what  I  am 
hiding!" 

She  motioned  her  guest  to  the  doorway  of  the 
lean-to. 

"Look!"  she  whispered. 

For  a  moment  Greeley  did  not  recognize  the  wan, 
helpless  creature  huddled  on  the  bed;  so  small,  so 
pitiful  was  the  unconscious  man  that  he  seemed  a 
stranger.  Then  in  amaze  and  half  terror,  Tod 
breathed : 

"Mart  Morley!     What  you — doing — to — him?" 

Marcia  Lowe's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  and  her 
trembling  lips  were  hardly  able  to  frame  the  words: 

"I'm  helping  him  to  lead  his  people  back  to  their 
heritage!  Oh!  you  do  not  understand;  but  he  and 
I  —  with  God  on  our  side,  are  fighting  —  just  plain 
fighting  a  —  a  worm!" 

At  that  moment  Morley  stirred  and  opened  his 
hollow,  starving  eyes. 

"Food,"  he  gasped  in  a  voice  Greeley  never  forgot; 
"  God-a'mighty  —  food! " 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  187 

Then  Greeley  beheld  a  miracle.  He  saw  Marcia 
Lowe  run  to  the  fire  in  the  living-room  and  bring  to 
the  bedside  of  the  sick  man  a  tiny  kettle  of  some 
smooth  liquid;  he  saw  her  dip  a  spoon  in  and  then 
hold  it  to  the  lips  of  Morley.  She  had  forgotten 
Greeley;  forgotten  all  but  the  man  upon  the  bed. 

"Slowly,  slowly!"  she  whispered;  "we've  won! 
we've  won!  There!  there!  It's  going  to  be  all  right 
from  now  on  —  the  charm's  worked!" 

Awed  and  afraid,  Greeley  tiptoed  from  the  house, 
and  all  the  way  back  to  the  waiting  County  Club 
he  muttered  like  a  half-wit: 

"Fighting  a  worm!     Fighting  a  worm!" 


CHAPTER    XIII 

THE  day  that  civilization  and  education  took 
Sandy  Morley  into  its  keeping,  saw  Cynthia 
Walden  astride  Crothers'  mule  jogging 
down  The  Way  to  the  factory.  Sandy,  arrayed  in 
immaculate  attire,  was  borne  to  his  school  among  the 
New  Hampshire  hills  by  train  and  coach.  He  was 
desperately  lonely;  thoroughly  frightened,  but  he 
was  well  in  body;  healthfully  sustained  by  good  food, 
and  he  had  so  much  money  in  his  pockets  that  he  was 
in  deadly  fear  of  being  waylaid  and  robbed.  Cyn 
thia,  on  the  contrary,  was  dressed  in  a  shabby  ging 
ham  gown  freshly  laundried  and  stiffly  starched,  but 
much  mended,  and  her  pocket  was  guiltless  of  money. 
She  had  no  fear  of  being  attacked,  so  she  sang 
sweetly  and  joyously  as  she  bobbed  about  getting 
her  blood  circulating,  for  the  old  coat  and  hood  she 
wore  were  pitifully  inadequate  for  the  crisp  weather. 
Cynthia  was  young  and  hope  led  her  on;  besides,  she 
had  just  deposited  a  most  poetic  letter  to  Sandy  in  the 
hole  of  the  tree.  Old  Sally  Taber  had  smoothed  the 
problem  of  Stoneledge  for  the  time  being,  and  there 
was  going  to  be  plenty  of  money  now  that  Crothers 
had  opened  the  way  for  Cynthia  to  employ  her  talents ! 

1 88 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  189 

Cynthia  tried  the  bird-note  Sandy  had  conquered 
so  successfully. 

"Why  don't  we-all  have  birds  in  winter  'stead  of 
summer?"  babbled  Madam  Bubble  from  her  mule; 
"and  moons  on  dark  nights,  and  hot  suns  at  Christ 
mas?"  Then  she  laughed,  and  the  laugh  left  the 
dear,  slow  smile  as  a  reminder  after  the  joyous  sound 
died  away. 

"The  Cup-o'-Cold- Water  Lady  is  in  the  church," 
Cynthia  exclaimed  suddenly  as  she  neared  Theodore 
Starr's  small  edifice  from  whose  chimney  smoke  was 
rising.  Then  she  kicked  the  fat  sides  of  her  mule 
and  turned  her  supercilious  head  aside  in  order  to 
escape  Marcia  Lowe's  eyes,  were  they  scanning 
The  Way. 

"It's  right  noble  of  her  to  take  care  of  Sandy's 
father,"  the  just  mind  granted;  "but  Aunt  Ann  and 
I  —  must  do  without  her  I" 

A  touch  of  yearning  lay  in  the  words.  Cynthia 
needed  what  Marcia  Lowe  might  mean  to  her,  and 
only  loyalty  to  Ann  Walden  icstrained  her. 

But  Marcia  Lowe  did  not  see  Cynthia  pass.  For 
months  now,  through  the  doors  and  unbarred  win 
dows,  the  light  and  air  had  come  into  the  little  church, 
and  the  spirit  of  Theodore  Starr  had,  in  some  subtle 
manner,  been  permitted  to  live  again.  People 
dropped  in  occasionally  and  sat  and  thought  of  the 
dead  parson.  Sometimes  Marcia  Lowe  welcomed 
them  and  coaxed  them  to  tell  her  of  her  dear  uncle. 


190  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

She  always  sat  in  what  she  called  "the  minister's 
pew,"  and  there  were  times  in  her  lonely  detached 
life  when  she  seemed  to  see  the  calm,  fine  face  look 
ing  down  at  her  from  the  poor  pulpit.  He  never 
looked  the  weak  man  who  was  afraid  of  Ann  Walden; 
to  his  loving  niece  he  was  ever  the  strong  brother-of- 
men  who  had  died  while  serving  them  not  worthy  of 
him!  As  Cynthia  rode  by,  Marcia  was  building  a 
fire  in  the  drum  stove,  lately  placed  in  the  church, 
and  singing,  prayerfully,  a  favourite  hymn. 

"Alone  with  Thee,  amid  the  mystic  shadows, 
The  solemn  hush  of  Nature  newly  born; 
Alone  with  Thee  in  breathless  adoration, 
In  the  calm  dew  and  freshness  of  the  dawn. 

"So  shall  it  be  at  last,  in  that  bright  morning 
When  the  soul  waketh  and  life's  shadows  flee." 

The  fire  responded  and  outside  the  shadows  of  the 
dark  trees  of  The  Way  enshrouded  Cynthia  as  she 
hurried  on. 

That  day  in  the  factory  was  the  hardest  day  of 
Cynthia's  life.  To  a  young  girl  born  in  freedom,  be 
that  freedom  of  the  meanest,  the  confinement  and 
authority  were  deadly.  Then,  too,  to  witness  the 
utilization  of  the  baby-things  that  were  mere  cogs 
in  the  machinery  of  Crothers'  business,  hurt  the 
mother-heart  of  the  girl  cruelly.  At  the  noon  hour 
she  tried  to  make  the  sad  little  creatures  play  —  but 
they  had  forgotten  how,  if  they  ever  knew;  they 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  191 

stared  at  her  with  wondering  eyes;  ate  all  of  her 
lunch  she  offered,  and  shivered  in  their  thin  clothes 
by  the  wretched  fire  in  a  shed  provided  for  their 
leisure  time. 

"Oh,  Sandy,  Sandy,"  murmured  Cynthia  as  she 
looked  about,  "I'll  help  you  get  them  away  from 
here  some  day." 

A  new  fear  and  hate  of  Crothers  grew  in  her  heart 
as  she  impotently  suffered  for  the  children,  but 
Crothers  was  as  gentle  and  kind  to  her  as  any  wise 
and  considerate  father  could  have  been.  He  was 
patient  with  her  bungling  and  errors;  he  did  not  turn 
her  off  to  his  clerks  for  instruction,  he  spent  his  own 
time  upon  her.  Every  moment  that  he  was  near  her 
Cynthia  trembled,  and  when  he  accidentally  touched 
her  she  recoiled  sharply.  Crothers  noticed  this,  and 
at  first  it  angered  him;  then  caused  him  much  amuse 
ment.  Unconsciously  the  girl  was  fanning  into  sud 
den  and  violent  flame  that  which  might  have  slum 
bered  on  for  months.  Before  the  end  of  the  first 
week  Crothers  had  noticed  how  lovely  Cynthia's 
shining  braids  were  as  they  twined  around  her  pretty, 
bent  head.  His  eyes  grew  thoughtful  as  he  noted 
the  lines  of  the  softly  rounded  shoulders  and  dainty 
girlish  bosom.  The  little  dent  in  the  back  of  the 
slim  neck  was  like  a  dimple  and  even  the  small  rough 
ened  hands  were  shapely  and  beautiful. 

"How  old  are  you, little  miss?"  Crothers  asked  her 
the  third  day  of  her  business  life,  and  Cynthia  fearing 


192  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

that  her  youth  might  prove  an  obstacle  answered 
blindly: 

"Going  on  —  fourteen!"  She  looked  more,  for 
her  South,  in  spite  of  all  her  meagre  upbringing,  had 
developed  her  rapidly.  Crothers  smiled  indulgently. 

When  Saturday  night  came  iour  dollars  was 
handed  to  Cynthia  by  Crothers  himself. 

"It  was  to  be  three,"  she  said,  holding  the  money 
toward  him.  He  took  the  fingers  in  his,  closed 
them  over  the  bills,  and  said: 

"Just  a  little  present  for  a  nice  little  girl  who  has 
tried  so  hard  to  be  good. " 

Cynthia  drew  back  and  her  eyes  flashed  danger 
ously. 

"I  do  not  want  it!"  she  said  quickly,  and  flung  a 
dollar  on  the  desk.  "I  only  want  what  is  mine!" 
After  she  had  gone  Crothers  swore  a  little;  then 
laughed.  The  laugh  was  more  evil  than  the  oath, 
but  no  one  was  there  to  hear. 

Cynthia  had  no  one  to  speak  to  about  her  fear  and 
loathing  of  Crothers.  Besides,  she  had  entered  upon 
her  career  and  dared  not  turn  back.  She  did  not 
understand  herself,  nor  the  man  who  was  her  em 
ployer;  she  did  not  understand  conditions  nor  the 
yearnings  that  possessed  her;  she  only  knew  that 
she  must  fight  against  becoming  a  poor  white,  and 
learn  to  overcome  the  limitations  of  her  birth,  and 
Crothers  seemed  her  only  chance.  On  the  long  rides 
to  and  from  the  factory  she  thought  often  of  her  poor 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  193 

mother  and  wondered  about  her  bad  father.  She 
wished  she  had  learned  more  about  them  while  Ann 
Walden  was  capable  of  telling  her.  The  time  was 
past  now  when  the  mistress  of  Stoneledge  could 
impart  any  reliable  information  to  the  girl.  When 
the  weather  permitted  the  old  woman  paced  the 
upper  balcony  crooning  to  the  hills,  and  as  cold  and 
storm  shut  her  inside  she  seemed  only  happy  in  the 
library.  So  Sally  Taber,  reinforced  by  the  money 
which  supposedly  she  so  miraculously  had  saved,  had 
the  room  made  habitable.  Mason  Hope  was  coaxed 
into  giving  some  of  his  valuable  time  to  the  repairing 
and  by  mid-winter  the  place  was  comfortable. 

"Ole  miss  is  jes'  a  plain  moon-chile  now,"  Sally 
confided  to  Marcia  Lowe  at  one  of  their  private  con 
ferences;  "it's  right  silly  to  oppose  her." 

"Yes,  give  her  everything  you  can,  Sally,  and  oh! 
if  she  ever  has  flashes  of  reason  get  her  to  talk  and  — 
remember  what  she  says!" 

"Deed  and  deed  I  will,"  promised  Sally.  "And 
if  she  ever  do  get  her  wits  back  it  will  be  in  dat  ole 
libr'y-room.  She  acts  right  human  thar  at  times. " 

Marcia  Lowe  was  sorely  puzzled  about  Cynthia 
those  days.  If  she  were  only  sure  that  Ann  Walden 
would  never  recover  her  reason  she  would  take  her 
chances  with  the  girl  and  plead  Theodore  Starr's 
cause,  but  with  no  actual  proof,  and  with  Ann 
Walden's  evident  past  instruction  to  Cynthia,  she 
hesitated  to  make  her  own  claims.  Then,  too,  there 


194  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

were  times  when  doubt  rose  in  her  mind,  not  as  to 
her  uncle,  but  Cynthia's  parentage.  There  might 
never  have  been  a  child  born  to  Queenie  Walden. 
The  Hollow  story  of  adoption  might  be  true  after  all. 
That  would  have  accounted  for  old  Miss  Walden's 
bitter  resentment.  It  was  all  very  difficult  and  con 
fusing,  but  in  the  meantime  she  could  love  the  girl, 
and  do,  indirectly,  for  her  what  personally  she  could 
not. 

Oftener  and  oftener  the  little  doctor  went  to  the 
church  by  The  Way  and  "sat  with  Uncle  Theodore, " 
as  she  put  it.  It  was  less  lonely  there;  the  store  was 
near  by  and  the  passers-by  were  becoming  more 
friendly.  Occasionally  they  dropped  in,  Tod  Gree- 
ley  and  old  Townley  more  than  the  others,  and 
chatted  sociably.  Marcia  Lowe  had  much  to  be 
grateful  for,  and  when,  one  morning  two  weeks  after 
Morley  had  been  pronounced  cured  by  his  faithful 
doctor-nurse,  he  came  to  her,  as  she  sat  in  the  church, 
and  said  quietly: 

"Miss  Lowe,  I'm  going  up  yon "  pointing  to 

his  own  cabin,  seen  now  between  the  bare  trees,  "to 
straighten  it  up  a  bit,"  she  wept  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  Martin  did  not  witness  the  outbreak; 
he  had  set  forth  upon  his  task.  Marcia  Lowe  was 
alone  and  upon  her  knees. 

"Dear  God!"  she  repeated  over  and  over;  "dear 
God !  he  is  saved.  He'll  open  the  way  to  others. " 

Martin  Morley  went  upon  his  new  course  unheeded 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  195 

for  a  time,  for  a  tragic  happening  to  Cynthia  and  a 
calamity  to  the  community  threw  the  little  doctor 
and  many  others  into  chaos. 

Cynthia  had  been  a  month  in  Crothers'  factory, 
when  one  late  afternoon  he  said  to  her: 

"  Little  miss,  could  you  bide  at  The  Forge  to 
night?"  Cynthia  started  back  and  looked  at  him. 

"It's  this-er-way;  you've  become  mighty  helpful 
to  me  and  I've  got  a  batch  of  letters  to  get  off  by  the 
morning's  mail.  It  looks  like  there  is  going  to  be 
snow,  too,  and  I'd  hate  to  keep  you  late  and  then 
send  you  toting  home  after  dark.  Now  if  you  can 
stop  over  and  work  'long  o'  me  till —  say  ten  o'clock, 
we  can  finish  the  work  and  I'll  set  you  down  safe  and 
sound  at  my  boarding-house  for  a  good  night's  rest. " 

Cynthia  gave  her  usual  shudder  and  sought  about 
for  an  excuse.  She  knew  Crothers'  boarding-house 
keeper;  knew  her  to  be  a  decent  soul  who  had  more 
than  once,  lately,  brought  a  hot  meal  to  her  at  mid 
day  when  she  brought  Crothers'.  There  was  snow  in 
the  air,  too,  and  a  late  ride  through  the  woods  at  night 
was  almost  more  awful  than  to  stay  at  the  factory. 

"They-all  will  worry,"  she  faltered  in  her  pretty, 
slow  way. 

"I  sent  word  by  Hope's  boys,"  Crothers  reassured 
her,  "they've  just  gone.  I  knew  I  could  depend 
upon  you. " 

Cynthia  struggled  to  control  herself,  and  finally 
gave  her  smile  and  shrugged  her  'shoulders. 


196  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  mistress  of  the  boarding-house  brought  to  the 
iactory  a  piping  hot  supper  for  two  at  seven  o'clock. 
She  seemed  to  know  all  about  Cynthia's  proposed 
stay,  and  showed  no  sign  of  misunderstanding  it. 

"You  better  fotch  the  chile  in  'bout  nine,"  she 
suggested  to  Crothers  as  she  went  out;  "she  do  look 
clean  beat  now.  Quality  don't  last  out  at  work  like 
trash  do;  they  certainly  do  tucker  out  sooner." 

Crothers  bade  the  garrulous  woman  a  pleasant 
good  night,  and  then  set  himself  busily  to  the  task  of 
mastering  a  pile  of  correspondence  on  his  desk. 
Cynthia  went  to  the  little  table  by  the  window  that 
served  as  her  writing-desk  and  asked  quietly  what  she 
should  do.  Crothers  handed  her  a  list  of  names  and 
a  package  of  envelopes  and  told  her  to  address  them. 
The  old  clock  on  the  wall  ticked  away  comfortably; 
the  warmth  and  the  late  hearty  meal  combined  to 
drive  away  fear  and  apprehension  of,  she  knew  not 
what,  and  Cynthia  was  soon  absorbed  in  the  task  set 
her. 

Presently  the  kerosene  lamp  on  her  table  flickered 
and  went  out;  then  glancing  over  at  Crothers'  back 
she  asked  timidly: 

"Please,  may  I  sit  by  your  desk,  sir?  The  light's 
failed." 

Crothers  turned  about  and  smiled  at  the  pale  little 
creature  in  the  shadows. 

"  Come  right  along,  little  miss !  Here,  let  me  fetch 
your  chair.  There,  now!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  197 

Seated  at  the  end  of  the  flat-topped  desk,  Cynthia 
tried  to  resume  her  work,  but  the  unrest  of  the  early 
afternoon  possessed  her  and  she  felt  a  tear  roll  down 
her  cheek  —  the  cheek  nearest  the  man  at  her  left 
side. 

What  happened  after  that  Cynthia  never  could  tell 
clearly;  she  only  knew  that  a  large,  hot  hand  wiped 
the  tear  away  and  a  burning  kiss  fell  upon  her  cheek! 

Horrified,  and  shaking  with  fear,  the  girl  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  desk 
near  the  window  looking  out  toward  The  Way.  She 
had  but  one  thought:  she  would  break  the  window 
and  make  a  dash  for  safety !  But  Crothers  was  upon 
his  feet  also.  He  did  not  offer  to  come  nearer,  but 
he  leaned  over  the  desk  and  said  quietly: 

"What  you  afraid  of,  lil'  girl?" 

"You!"     The  word  was  like  a  hiss. 

"Of  me?  Can't  you  give  me  a  kiss?  I  don't 
want  to  hurt  you;  I'm  your  best  friend;  why,  see 
here,  I'll  give  you  a  right  smart  new  coat  and  hat  and 
dress  —  for  a  kiss ;  just  a  little  kiss. " 

Cynthia's  eyes  seemed  fastened  to  the  smiling, 
cruel  face,  but  she  did  not  tremble  now.  Calmly, 
clearly,  she  was  thinking  what  she  could  take  with 
which  to  defend  herself. 

"Just  —  one  —  more  —  kiss  —  lil'  girl,"  and  now 
Crothers  was  coming  around  the  corner  of  the  desk. 
It  seemed  like  some  fearful  nightmare,  but  Cynthia 
was  ready! 


198  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Just  one  —  more  —  kiss  right  on  the  pretty 
mouth!"  The  large,  white  hands  were  extended  and 
the  teeth  showed  through  the  red  lips.  At  that 
instant  Cynthia  seized  the  lighted  lamp  which  stood 
near,  and  with  desperate  strength  flung  it  toward  the 
reaching  body!  There  was  a  crash,  a  curse,  a  fall, 
and  then  the  room  was  blotted  out  by  darkness. 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  deathlike  stillness  and 
in  it  the  girl  crept  toward  the  door,  unfastened  it  and 
gained  the  open.  There  were  feathery  snowflakes 
in  the  air  and  they  touched  Cynthia's  face  like  holy 
kisses,  wiping  away  the  evil  one  that  had  burned 
there  but  a  moment  before.  Groping  and  running 
she  reached  The  Way  and,  from  behind  a  tree, 
paused  to  take  breath.  Never  had  she  felt  more  self- 
possessed  or  secure;  her  mind  was  clear  and  sane. 
If  Crothers  came  out,  she  could  outstrip  him  in  a 
race  for  the  boarding-house,  and  she  meant  to  go  to 
the  boarding-house  that  night!  Something  within 
her  guided  her  now;  something  was  protecting  her 
and  saving  her  —  it  was  the  woman  Cynthia  was  by 
and  by  to  be! 

As  the  girl  by  the  tree  panted  and  reasoned,  she  saw, 
from  the  factory  window  —  the  window  of  Crothers' 
office  —  a  darting  tongue  of  light;  another  followed 
and  in  a  moment  the  glass  was  ruddy  —  and  smoke 
was  issuing  from  the  door  left  open  when  she  ran  out. 

"The  place  is  on  fire!"  Then  —  "why  does  he 
not  come  out?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  199 

For  a  moment  only  a  madness  seized  Cynthia 
while  hate  and  revenge  had  their  way: 

"Let  him  die!"  she  muttered,  setting  her  teeth 
close  and  gripping  her  hands;  "let  him!" 

But  even  as  the  words  were  spoken  she  was  run 
ning  back  to  the  factory.  'She  rushed  into  the  smoke- 
filled  hallway  and,  by  the  light  of  the  fire,  she  saw 
Crothers  lying  full  length  where  he  had  fallen.  The 
flames  were  feasting  on  the  rug  by  the  desk  and  the 
unconscious  man's  head  lay  upon  that  rug! 

Cynthia  knelt  beside  Crothers  and  called  his  name, 
but  the  ugly  smiling  lips  made  no  motion  of  reply. 
Then  she  seized  him  under  the  arms  and  frantically 
tugged  and  tugged  at  the  heavy  body.  The  flames 
were  almost  at  her  feet,  the  wool  of  the  carpet  had 
caught  first  and  the  licking  tongues  followed  the 
burden  she  bore,  greedily.  At  last  she  was  at  the 
door;  outside,  and  the  safe,  black  night  surrounded 
them!  She  lay  Crothers  down  and  breathed  fast 
and  hard.  The  snowflakes  were  larger;  thicker  now, 
and  there  was  a  harshness  in  their  touch. 

Presently  Cynthia  began  to  call  louder  and  louder, 
and  the  fire  gaining  power  lighted  the  night  and 
crackled  merrily. 

"Help!  help!  help!" 

And  help  came.  First  on  the  scene  were  the 
boarding-house  mistress  and  her  sons;  then  followed 
others  of  The  Forge,  and  soon  a  group  had 
gathered  and  were  aimlessly  running  about,  giving 


200  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

orders  and  foolishly  bemoaning  the  havoc  that  was 
spreading. 

Quite  calm  and  uncaring  Cynthia  answered  the 
questions  put  to  her.  She  defended  herself  without 
once  realizing  that  she  was  doing  so. 

"Crothers  got  up  suddenly  —  and  fell!"  she  said 
to  the  mistress  of  the  boarding-house  who  was  work 
ing  over  the  man  on  the  ground,  bathing  his  face 
with  snow  and  slapping  his  hands  with  her  own  rough 
ones. 

"Yes,  the  lamp  overturned  —  and  the  fire  was  so 
quick!" 

"Yes,  I  could  not  let  Crothers  die;  I  had  to  pull 
him  out!" 

Then  a  man  near  by  said: 

"Plucky  little  devil."  The  words  rang  in  Cyn 
thia's  ears  strangely.  Why  did  they  praise  her? 
What  had  she  done?  She  wanted  Crothers  to  die- 
Now  that  he  was  out  of  the  fire,  she  did  not  want  to 
see  his  eyes  open  again,  and  yet  she  was  straining  her 
own  to  get  the  first  sign  in  his.  Of  a  sudden  Cro 
thers  looked  full  at  her  wonderingly,  dazedly,  and  at 
that  sight  Cynthia  fled,  and,  in  the  confusion,  no  one 
missed  her.  She  did  not  go  to  the  shed  for  her  mule, 
she  made  for  The  Way  uncloaked  and  unhooded  and 
ran  for  her  life  until,  overcome  by  weariness,  she 
paused  to  take  breath.  Looking  back  she  saw  only  a 
dull  glow  where  the  factory  had  stood  and  black 
smoke  was  rolling  thick  up  into  the  pure, falling  snow. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  201 

It  was  fear  of  Man  that  haunted  Cynthia  as  she 
toiled  up  the  hillside;  Man  as  he  had  loomed  first  on 
her  horizon,  cruel,  seeking,  and  selfish.  When  the 
hard  branches  of  the  tree  touched  her  she  stifled  a 
scream,  for  they  felt  like  the  demanding  hands  of 
Man;  when  a  hungry  animal  darted  across  her  path 
she  recoiled,  remembering  another  animal  with  face 
and  form  of  Man. 

It  was  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  Cynthia 
left  The  Forge  —  though  how  the  hours  had  passed 
from  nine  till  three  she  was  never  able  to  explain;  — • 
it  was  eight  o'clock  when  she  passed  Andrew  Town- 
ley's  cabin  and  saw  smoke  curling  from  his  chimney. 
Sensation  was  slowly  returning  to  her;  she  felt  cold, 
weak,  and  hungry,  but  with  the  senses  aroused  she 
realized  that  she  could  not  go  home!  She  could  not 
face  Ann  Walden's  vacant  stare,  or  Sally  Taber's 
coarse  cheerfulness.  In  all  her  world  she  was  alone, 
alone!  But  even  as  she  thought  this  her  weary  feet 
were  bearing  her  to  Theodore  Starr's  little  church 
which  was  never  locked  by  day  or  night.  She 
reached  the  door  at  last,  and  with  all  her  remaining 
strength  pushed  it  open  and  staggered  up  to  where  the 
steps  led  to  the  small  raised  altar.  Dropping  down 
she  bent  her  aching  head  upon  her  arm  and  sobbed: 

"Father!  Mother!"  simply  because  in  all  God's 
world  no  other  words  came  to  her  relief. 

Theodore  Starr's  little  daughter  had  come  to  him 
quite  naturally  in  her  first  great  sorrow! 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AND  there    Marcia   Lowe  found  her.     For 
tunately  the  little  doctor  went  early  to  the 
church,  for  she  had  conceived  of  a  Christ 
mas    such   as  The  Hollow  had  never  known,  and 
it  seemed  fitting  that  Theodore  Starr  should  be  the 
host! 

Quite  merrily  she  entered  and  went  directly  to  the 
stove  to  start  a  fire.  As  she  drew  near,  the  out 
stretched  form  of  Cynthia  Walden  caught  her  eyes 
and  she  cried  aloud  in  astonishment  and  fright.  At 
first  she  thought  the  girl  was  frozen  to  death,  for  she 
lay  so  still  and  her  thin  clothing  was  evidence  of  the 
danger  run. 

"Dear  heart!  dear  heart!"  whispered  Miss  Lowe, 
overcoming  her  desire  to  take  the  girl  in  her  arms 
until  she  had  made  a  fire.  Once  the  genial  heat 
began  to  spread  Marcia  Lowe  set  a  kettle  of  water 
on  the  stove  and  then  gave  her  maternal  instincts 
full  play.  She  gathered  the  slight  form  close  and 
kissed  again  and  again  the  thin  oval  cheek  and  close 
shut  mouth. 

'  "Poor  little,  little  girl!" 

The  warmth  and  sound  stole  into  Cynthia's  far 

202 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  203 

place  and  summoned  her  back.  Her  first  look  was 
full  of  terror;  her  second  was  one  of  unearthly  joy- 
ousness,  and  then  because  the  woman  of  Cynthia 
had  no  need  to  battle  longer  for  her,  the  child  made 
its  claims  and,  clinging  and  sobbing  to  the  little 
doctor  she  moaned  again  and  again: 

"I  am  so  afraid;  so  afraid!" 

It  was  long  before  Miss  Lowe  could  quiet  her. 
She  wrapped  her  heavy  coat  about  her  and  forced 
some  drops  of  hot  water  between  the  stiff,  chilled 
lips.  Then  she  bathed  the  face  and  hands  gently  with 
water  cooled  with  snow,  murmuring  tenderly  mean 
while: 

"  Dear  little  girl ;  poor  little  Cynthia !  It's  all  right 
now. " 

When  the  girl  was  soothed  and  comforted  she  went 
to  the  store  to  buy  food  —  anything  to  be  had,  for 
she  knew  instinctively  that  whatever  was  the  cause, 
Cynthia  had  tasted  no  food  that  day. 

"Come  back  soon!"  moaned  the  girl  crouching  by 
the  stove,  "I  am  so  afraid." 

After  she  had  eaten  some  stale  crackers,  soaked  in 
diluted  condensed  milk,  Cynthia  sat  up,  still  and  pale, 
and  faced  Marcia  Lowe  dumbly,  imploringly. 

"Can  you  tell  me,  little  Cyn?" 

"No!"     The  voice  was  distant  and  monotonous. 

"But  something  has  happened,  dear.  I  want  to 
help  you." 

"The  factory  —  is  burned  down ! "    A  shudder  ran 


204  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

over  the  rigid  young  figure.  Marcia  Lowe  saw  that 
she  might  hope  to  win  her  way  if  she  did  not  startle 
the  benumbed  mind. 

"  Were  you  hurt,  dear  ?  Was  any  one  hurt  ?  When 
did  it  happen?  How  did  you  hear?" 

After  each  question  Marcia  waited,  and  then  put 
another.  Still  that  fixed,  steady  gaze. 

"I  —  I  was  there.  It  was  night.  He  —  he 
kissed  me  —  don't  look  like  that!  look  away!  your 
eyes  hurt  me!" 

Marcia  came  closer  and  took  the  girl  in  her  arms. 

"Now,  darling, "'she  whispered,  "close  your  eyes 
and  I'll  close  mine  —  there  are  only  you  and  I  and  — 
God  here." 

"He  —  he  kissed  me,  Crothers  did!  Then  he 
wanted  me  to  do  something  —  oh!  I  do  not  know 
what,  but  something  he  thought  I  could  do  —  I  felt 
it,  and  —  and  I  threw  the  lamp  at  him.  It  was 
lighted  and  he  went  down  in  a  heap  and  I  —  I  ran 
right  hard,  but  I  went  back  and  pulled  him  out  when 
the  fire  started.  I  do  not  know  why  —  for  I  want 
him  out  of  the  world.  I  shall  be  afraid  always 
while  he  is  in  the  world!" 

"It's  all  right  now,  little  Cyn,  all,  all  right." 

This  only  could  the  horrified  woman  repeat  over 
and  over,  as  she  swayed  to  and  fro  with  closed  eyes 
and  Cynthia  on  her  breast. 

Vividly  she  seemed  to  see  the  late  scene.  The 
helpless  girl;  the  brutish  man;  the  lonely  night  shut- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  205 

ting  them  in  and  only  a  miracle  to  save.  Details  did 
not  matter,  and  the  miracle  had  come,  but  the  after 
effects  were  here  and  now. 

It  was  near  noon  before  Marcia  Lowe  dared  take 
Cynthia  away  from  the  shelter  of  the  church,  and 
when  she  did  so  she  chose  an  hour  when  all  but  Greeley 
were  absent  from  the  store,  and  he  was  in  the  rear, 
eating  his  dinner. 

"You  must  come  to  Trouble  Neck,  little  Cyn," 
she  said  firmly;  "you'll  be  safe  there,  and  we  must 
think  this  out. " 

Cynthia  made  no  demur,  and  wrapped  in  Marcia 
Lowe's  coat  —  Marcia  had  a  lighter  one  beside  —  she 
clung  close  to  the  little  doctor  and  walked  the  three 
miles  to  Trouble  Neck  without  a  word  of  complaint. 

"It's  plain  good  luck,"  Marcia  Lowe  thought, 
"that  Martin  Morley  is  out  of  hospital."  And  then 
she  smiled  grimly  up  into  the  girl-face  beside  her,  for 
Cynthia  was  fully  as  tall  as  she. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  Tod  Greeley  strode 
over  to  Trouble  Neck  for  no  particular  reason.  Out 
side  the  door  he  stood  and  listened  to  low-spoken 
words  and  snatches  of  song. 

"'Taint  nowise  normal,  I  reckon,"  mused  he;  "a 
woman's  tongue  and  mind  has  got  to  have  some  one 
to  hit  up  against,  or  the  recoil  is  going  to  do  some 
right  smart  damage  to  the  woman  herself. "  Then 
he  knocked,  and  went  in  at  the  word  of  command 
to  enter. 


206  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Just  conversationing  with  yourself?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.  Poor  company's  better  than  none.  Sit 
down,  Mr.  Greeley;  you're  always  welcome." 

"I  brought  some  news.  Crothers'  factory  is 
plumb  burnt  to  the  ground." 

"Land  sakes!"  ejaculated  the  little  doctor  in  the 
idiom  of  her  home  town;  "any  damage  besides  the 
factory?" 

"Crothers  is  right  used  up.  They  say  he  tipped 
over  the  lamp  in  his  hurry  to  get  up  and  —  things 
happened." 

"Dear  suz!"  Marcia  Lowe  was  lapsing  into  old- 
fashioned  speech. 

"And  Miss  Lowe,  little  Miss  Cynthia  was  thar  afte? 
hours !  They  do  say  she  acted  like  she  was  possessed. 
She  pulled  Crothers  out  of  the  flames  and  saved  his 
life  I  reckon  —  that  is,  if  it  is  saved !  He  ain't  perked 
up  much  yet,  'cording  to  reports.  But  Miss  Lowe — 
little  Miss  Cyn  ain't  come  home!  I'm  tumble  feared 
lest  she  went  back  again  for  something,  and " 

Miss  Lowe  got  up  from  her  chair  and  cautiously 
motioned  Tod  to  the  doorway  of  the  lean-to. 

"Look!"  she  whispered.  Greeley  expected  still 
to  see  Martin,  but  instead  he  saw  the  delicate, 
sleeping  face  of  Cynthia  Walden.  He  drew  back 
with  a  stifled  cry. 

"That  there  room  o'  yours,"  he  faintly  said  when 
he  reached  the  fireside  again,  "is  right  nerve-racking. 
It's  like  one  of  them  Jack-boxes  at  Christmas. " 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  207 

"She  only  stopped  here  because  she  was  tired. 
When  she  awakens  I  will  take  her  home, "  explained 
Miss  Lowe. 

Greeley  was  nonplussed,  but  when  he  was  in  doubt 
he  turned  the  subject  and  talked  more  than  usual. 

The  following  day  Cynthia  was  taken  home-, 
Providence  and  the  strain  and  excitement  saved  her 
from  serious  harm,  but  when  Marcia  Lowe  left  her 
by  the  gate  of  Stoneledge  there  seemed  to  be  some 
thing  tragic  in  the  fact  that  after  such  an  experience, 
no  explanations  were  necessary.  Ann  Walden  was 
past  any  earthly  worriment,  and  Sally  Taber  could 
not  understand  then,  or  ever,  the  soul-hurt  little 
Cynthia  had  received. 

"It's  good  friends  now  and  always,  little  Cyn?" 

"Yes,  dear  Cup-o'-Cold-Water  Lady!" 

They  stood  by  the  dilapidated  gate. 

"And  you  will  come  often  to  Trouble  Neck?" 

"Right  often." 

"And  you  are  not  afraid?  Remember  I  have  a 
care  over  you. " 

"I  am  not  afraid." 

"Then  kiss,  little  Cyn,  and  God  bless  you." 

On  her  way  home  Marcia  Lowe  stopped  at  the 
church  to  rest  and  "talk  it  over  with  Uncle  Theo 
dore." 

The  golden  winter  sunset  streamed  through  the 
window  and  lay  bright  and  fair  like  a  shining  way  up 
to  the  altar.  Marcia  walked  the  brilliant  strip  and 


208  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

sat  down  in  the  minister's  pew.  Wrapping  her 
heavy  coat  about  her  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the 
pulpit  and  a  great  comfort  came.  Then  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  the  pale,  fine  face  of  her  uncle  seemed 
to  rise  before  her. 

"If  you  could  only  tell  me  all  about  it,  dear,"  she 
whispered.  "I  would  help  any  little  girl,  God  knows, 
but  I  could  help  yours  so  much  easier!  Isn't  there 
some  way,  uncle,  that  you  can  make  me  understand? 
Is  your  place  so  far  away?" 

A  step  fell  upon  the  floor;  a  shambling,  tottering 
footstep.  Miss  Lowe  turned  and  saw  Andrew 
Townley. 

"Sit  here  beside  me,"  she  said;  "this  is  a  good 
place  to  be." 

"It's  a  right  good  place,  ma'am.  Seems  like  we-all 
can't  kill  Parson  Starr.  I  seem  to  feel  like  it  was  only 
yesterday  when  he  rode  up  The  Way  and  sorter 
settled  down  like  a  blessing  long  o'  us-all.  Lately, 
as  I  pass  by  or  turn  in  yere  I  get  a  call  back  to  some 
thing  what  he  spoke.  To-day  it  came  to  me  right 
sharp  how  he  said  'greater  love'  and  then  went  on  to 
explanify.  I'm  right  old  in  years,  ma'am,  and  I'm 
doddering,  I  expect,  but  I  reckon  I  knows  as  much 
as  that  po'  moon  chile  o'  Hope's.  You  know 
Crothers  has  got  him,  too,  'mong  the  wheels, 
and  the  po'  lil'  boy  he  comes  home  all  wild  and 
sicklike,  and  mornings  Hope  has  to  lick  him  down 
The  Way  —  he  hates  that-er-much  to  go.  Come 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  209 

tomorrow,  I'm  going  down  to  Crothers'  and  I'm 
going  to  offer  up  myself  'stead  o'  that  moon 
chile.  When  I  go  to  join  Parson  Starr  I'd  like  to 
have  something  to  offer  him  by  way  o'  excusing 
raywlf.  'Parson,  I'll  say  to  him,  parson,  this  I  done 
'lo»f  o'  "  Greater  Love."  '" 

Marcia  Lowe's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  took 
the  poor  old  fumbling  hands  in  her  own. 

"Dear,  dear  friend,"  she  faltered,  "God  will  not 
need  your  service.  He  has  chosen  a  burnt  offering 
instead  of  a  human  sacrifice.  The  factory  is  in  ashes 
now,  and  for  a  time,  the  children  may  rest. " 

"Sho'I"  murmured  Andrew.  "Sho'  to  be  sure." 
Then  he  wandered  back  to  thatpastwhich  held  Starr. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  the  parson  was  that-er-day 
when  he  went  a  riding  off  to  the  Gulch  to  help  ole 
Miss  Lanley  out  o'  life.  He  had  HI'  Miss  Queenie 
long  o'  him  —  she  was  the  Walden  girl  as  was. " 

Marcia  Lowe  sat  up  straighter  and  again  gripped 
the  wandering,  wrinkled  hands.  Her  uncle's  letter 
came  vividly  to  mind  and  she  felt  suddenly  that  she 
was  being  led  by  old  Townley  back  to  clear  vision. 

"Go  on!"  she  whispered  soothingly,  seeking  not  to 
confuse  the  rambling  wits.  "Just  where  was  old 
Miss  Lanley's  place?" 

Andrew  laughed  foolishly. 

"Lanley!"  he  pattered  on.  "Susie  May  Lanley! 
I  reckon  she  was  a  right  putty  one  in  her  day.  I 
aster  set  and  watch  her  and  say  this-er-way:  'plenty 


210  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

o'  them!  I'm  going  to  get  one!'  meaning  to  make 
her  jealous  long  o'  gals}  but  she  never  took  no  heed  — 
but  Landy!  she  died  forsaken  and  lone,  and  times  is 
when  I  think  she  would  have  been  a  mighty  sight 
better  off  if  she  had  took  me!" 

Townley's  long  reminiscence  had  tired  him  woe 
fully  and  he  began  to  cry  pitifully,  swaying  to  and  fro 
and  repeating: 

"She  done  died  forsaken  and  lone!" 

Then  he  fell  asleep,  his  white  head  on  Marcia 
Lowe's  shoulder,  the  full  radiance  of  the  late  sun 
flooding  over  them  through  the  western  window. 
For  a  half  hour  he  slept  and  when  he  awakened  he 
seemed  hopelessly  addled.  Muttering  and  groping, 
hardly  seeming  to  notice  his  companion,  he  made  his 
way  out  of  the  church. 

"Old  Miss  Susie  May  Lanley!"  the  little  doctor 
repeated  over  and  over.  "I  must  hold  to  that  until 
I  get  it  on  paper.  I  guess  Uncle  Theodore  was 
married  by  some  one  living  near  old  Miss  Susie  May 
Lanley 's!" 

Just  as  Marcia  Lowe  was  leaving  the  church, 
Cynthia  came  running  down  the  trail.  She  was 
smiling  and  calm. 

"I  came  back,"  she  said  confidingly,  "to  tell  you 
something.  I've  worked  it  out  myself. " 

"Yes,  dear;"  the  girl's  face  struck  Marcia 
strangely.  A  new  expression  rested  upon  it. 

"I'm  —  not  —  going  —  to  suffer  any  more." 


211 

"Why,  little  Cyn?" 

"No.  No  more!  It  hurts  and  hurts  and  then 
you  get  over  it,  and  go  on  just  the  same.  I'm  not 
going  to  suffer  I" 

Miss  Lowe  went  close  and  took  the  pretty  face  in 
her  hands. 

"  See  here,  little  girl,  if  suffering  is  a  teacher  it  is 
not  such  a  cruel  thing;  be  a  good  learner." 

"No.  Last  night  in  the  blackness  and  fear  some 
thing  happened  —  here!"  The  gir  put  her  hand 
over  her  heart.  "But  now  with  the  sun  shining  over 
Lost  Mountain,  it's  all  so  right  safe  and  still  and 
happy  that  I'm  sorry  for  the  hurt  of  last  night. 
No,  I  am  not  going  to  suffer.  I'm  going  to  be  just 
HP  Cyn  again.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know." 

"Oh,  dear,"  and  then  Marcia  laughed.  "You-ali 
make  me  want  to  cry  so  easily!  I  am  glad,  dear. 
Surely  I  do  not  want  any  one  to  suffer;  but  see  here, 
will  you  come  to  me  every  day,  Cynthia?  I  want 
to  teach  you  some  necessary  things.  Things  like  - 
well  —  book  things !  Things  that  Sandy  j  ust  loved." 

"I  reckon  I  will,  Cup-o'-Cold-Water  Lady!" 

Then  she  was  gone  as  she  had  come.  Crothers* 
touch  had  only  alarmed  her;  it  had  not  soiled  her. 

"Thank  God!"  murmured  the  little  doctor;  "the 
woman  in  the  child  shielded  her  from  all  but  physical 
shock!  And  what  a  quaint  philosophy  for  a  girl  to 
evolve. " 

That  evening  as  Marcia  Lowe  stood  before  her 


212  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

little  mirror  in  the  lean-to,  braiding  her  long  smooth 
hair,  she  talked  a  bit  for  comfort's  sake. 

"It's  plain  luxury  to  lie  in  my  own  bed  again," 
she  said,  "the  bench  in  the  other  room  can  never  be 
made  anything  but  a  martyr's  cot."  Then  she 
glanced  up  and  faced  her  own  smiling  image  with  the 
braids  twisted  about  the  head. 

"Ohi"  she  faltered,  falling  back,  "oh!  Uncle 
Theodore!"  For  there,  smiling  at  her  with  the  slow, 
lingering  smile,  the  face  of  Cynthia  seemed  to  shine 
out  by  the  flickering  candlel  ght,  instead  of  her  own! 

The  long  dressing-gown  gave  a  childish  setting  to 
the  little  doctor's  form,  the  coronet  braids;  the 
happy,  smiling  face  was  young  and  wonderfully, 
strikingly  like  Cynthia's. 

"They  always  said  I  was  so  like  Uncle  Theodore! 
I've  got  Cynthia  to  her  father  by  way  of  —  me!" 

Then  the  Cup-o'-Cold-Water  Lady  did  a  most 
unaccountable  thing  —  she  fairly  pranced  about  the 
room. 

"I've  found  it!"  she  sang;  "without  resurrecting 
old  Miss  Susie  May  Lanley!  What's  a  stupid 
marriage  certificate  compared  to  God's  plain  hand 
writing?  I  can  keep  my  secret  now,  Uncle  Theodore, 
until  the  right  time.  It  was  so  good  of  you,  dear, 
to  give  me  proof. " 


CHAPTER  XV 

SEVEN  years  passed,  leaving  their  traces, 
and  upon  a  certain  afternoon  in  August 
Levi  Markham  and  Matilda  sat  on  the  piazza. 
of  the  Bretherton  home  and  awaited  the  arrival  of 
Mrs.  Olive  Treadwell. 

Old  Bob,  Sandy's  collie,  lay  at  Levi's  feet.  Bob 
was  fat  and  full  of  years;  he  wore  a  heavily  studded 
collar  with  perfect  dignity  and  had,  apparently, 
quite  forgotten  lean  days  and  promiscuous  kicks. 
Levi  could  now  shuffle  his  feet  with  impunity.  Bob 
never  suspected  ulterior  motives  and  the  sight  of  a 
broom  or  club  had  lost  all  terrors  for  him. 

Markham  did  not  look  any  older  than  he  looked 
seven  years  ago.  Indeed,  his  interest  in  Sandy 
Morley,  his  pride  in  that  young  man's  achievement, 
and  Sandy's  absolute  love  and  loyalty  to  his  bene 
factor,  had  done  much  to  relieve  Markham  of  years 
instead  of  adding  them  to  him.  Matilda  had  not 
fared  so  well.  She  looked  like  fragile  ware,  but  she 
never  complained  and  with  quiet  courage  she  went 
her  westering  way  thankfully. 

"Levi  is  wonderfully  softened,"  she  often  thought; 
"it  doesn't  hurt  him  so  much  these  days  to  praise 

213 


214  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

instead  of  blame,  and  naturally  folks  respond.  It's 
mostly  on  account  of  Sandy.  Levi  does  so  mortally 
hate  to  lose  that  when  he  wins  out  he  thaws  out!" 

The  broad  acres  of  Bretherton  were  rich  and  full 
of  harvest  as  the  old  brother  and  sister  waited  that 
afternoon.  At  last  Levi  snapped  his  watch  cover 
and  said  sharply: 

"That  three-fifty  train  is  always  late!  Do  you 
suppose  —  she  —  Mrs.  Treadwell,  will  expect  to  be 
put  up  for  the  night?" 

"I  hope  not,"  Matilda  replied,  knitting  away 
gently  with  closed  eyes.  "I'm  not  one  who  takes 
pleasure  in  folks'  disappointments  and  I'm  glad  to 
say  the  village  inn  is  comfortable  and  not  over 
crowded.  I  can,  if  it  is  necessary,  tell  Mary  Jane  to 
put  an  extra  plate  on  for  the  evening  meal. " 

"Wait  and  see  how  things  turn  out,"  cautiously 
advised  Levi. 

"What  time  is  it  now,  brother?" 

"Two-forty-five!  But  I  put  no  faith  in  that 
train." 

"Was  that  a  letter  from  Sandy  you  got  in  the 
noon  mail?" 

"It  was,  Matilda.  I  think  it  would  be  safe  to 
have  an  extra  plate  put  on  for  him. " 

Matilda  opened  her  eyes. 

"Levi,"  she  said;  "I'm  not  one  to  nose  about 
much,  but  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this?" 

Levi  set  his  lips  grimly. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  215 

"I  never  knew  that  Treadwell  woman  to  break  in 
after  a  long  silence  but  for  two  things,"  he  replied; 
"either  she  wants  something  or  she  wants  to  get  rid 
of  something.  Three  years  back  she  asked  for  help 
when  she  found  that  precious  nephew  of  hers " 

"And  ours,  Levi,"  Matilda  put  in;  "we  can't 
disown  him,  Blood  is  blood  even  if  it  clots. " 

"Well,  our  nephew,  then!  When  she  found  young 
Lansing  Treadwell  eating  up  her  income,  she  begged 
for  some  scraps  of  what  she  pleased  to  term  'his 
mother's  rights!"1 

"And  you  gave  them  to  her,  Levi!" 

"I  couldn't  let  Caroline's  boy  die  in  a  hole  even  if 
Hertford's  son  put  him  there!" 

"You  speak  real  comically  sometimes,  Levi. 
There  are  times  when  I  could  think  Sandy  was  talk 
ing  through  your  voice!" 

"Well!  well!  every  man  has  a  streak  of  the  dram 
atic  in  him!"  Markham's  lips  relaxed,  "and  I  must 
say  that  to  see  Sandy  Morley  and  Lans  Treadwell 
good  friends  without  either  sensing  the  true  relations 
of  birth  and  tradition,  tickles  me  through  and 
through.  I  guess  that  Treadwell  woman  would  have 
done  her  prettiest  if  she  had  caught  on.  But  she 
doesn't  know  where  Sandy  hailed  from  and  she's 
covered  the  Hertford  name  out  of  sight  for  personal 
grudge,  and  those  two  youngsters  sailed  into  each 
other  as  if  they  were  steered  by  Fate  and  no  one 
interfering.  Lans  Treadwell  can't  get  anything 


216  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

but  good  out  of  Sandy,  and  there  isn'tasoul  living  — 
you  and  I  included — who  could  draw  Morley  from  his 
course,  so  I've  looked  on  and  chuckled  considerably." 

"Brother,  I  sometimes  wonder  how  it  is  that  you 
trust  Sandy  as  you  do  —  you  never  question. " 

"Not  out  loud, 'Tilda." 

"But  he  does  not  always  explain.  Now  his  work 
ing  this  summer  as  he  has!  Every  other  summer  it 
has  been  in  the  mills,  but  this  summer  he  had  to  have 
more  money  than  you  gave  him.  What  for,  Levi? 
I  ask  you  flat-footed  and  not  casting  any  suspicion, 
but  what  did  he  want  it  for?" 

"That's  the  reason  I've  asked  him  down  to-night. 
I  want  to  find  out.  I  never  have  questioned  him 
over  much.  When  he  said  he  wanted  more  money 
I  took  for  granted  that  he  did  and  so  long  as  he 
didn't  hint  for  me  to  give  it,  I  sort  of  allowed  it 
wasn't  any  of  my  business.  He's  mastered  the 
rudiments  at  the  mills;  he's  over  twenty-one  —  just 
over  —  and  I  rather  enjoyed  seeing  him  take  the  bit 
in  his  teeth.  But  I  sensed  that  Mrs.  Treadwell  was 
coming  to  get  rid  of  something  to-day  and  I  thought 
it  might  be  just  as  well  for  Sandy  to  be  on  hand 
later.  Matilda,  if  they  two  lap  over  each  other,  you 
steer  Sandy  away  till  I  march  her  off. " 

Matilda  nodded  and  again  shut  her  eyes  while  she 
knitted  her  soft  wools  into  a  "rainbow  scarf. "  Wlien 
she  spoke,  her  thoughts  had  taken  a  sudden  and 
new  turn. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  217 

"I'll  admit,  Levi,  that  Sandy's  clothes  set  on  him 
as  I  never  saw  a  man's  clothes  set.  They  are  the 
making  of  him.  He's  terrible  good  looking  — 
considering!" 

"Considering  —  what?"  Markham  frowned  at 
the  placid  face  and  close-shut  eyes.  "Considering! 
ugh!  Why,  'Tilda,  there  is  blood  running  in  that 
boy's  veins  that  we  Americans  ought  to  bow  down 
before!  There  are  times  when  he  looks  at  me  in  his 
big,  kind,  loving  fashion,  that  I  feel  as  I  did  the  first 
time  the  poor  little  dirty  devil  raised  his  eyes  to  me, 
only  now  all  that  went  to  the  making  of  the  lad 
seems  to  be  saying,  'thank  you,  Markham,  and  God 
bless  you!" 

"Levi,  you're  an  awful  good  man,  and  time's 
mellowing  you  more  than  any  one  would  have 
looked  for. " 

"Thank  you, 'Tilda." 

And  then  for  a  long  time  they  sat  in  silence  and 
thought  their  own  thoughts.  Bob  grunted  and 
turned  around  facing  the  brother  and  sister,  blinked, 
grunted  again,  and  probably  thought  of  Sandy  also. 

The  train  that  afternoon  was  on  time,  and  the 
carriage  Markham  sent  to  the  station  presently 
appeared  bearing  Mrs.  Treadwell. 

Olive  Treadwell  was  handsomer  than  ever,  for  her 
gray  hair  softened  her  features  and  the  years  had 
added  just  enough  flesh  to  her  bones  to  insure  grace, 
not  angularity. 


2i8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  am  going  back  on  the  six-two  train,  Mr.  Mark- 
ham,  if  you  will  permit  your  coachman  to  take  me  to 
the  station.  Lans  and  I  have  a  very  important 
engagement  this  evening." 

Levi  gave  the  order  and  handed  his  visitor  to  a 
chair. 

"Matilda  has  some  iced  tea  for  us,"  he  said,  "and 
then  we  will  go  inside. " 

Mrs.  Treadwell  greeted  her  hostess  and  sat  lan 
guidly  down,  taking  off,  as  she  did  so,  her  long  dust 
coat  and  displaying  an  exquisite  gown  of  pale  violet. 

There  was  a  little  desultory  conversation,  two  cups 
of  delicious  tea  and  one  of  Matilda's  choice  sand 
wiches  and  then  Markham  led  the  way  to  the  library 

Mrs.  Treadwell  took  the  deep  leather  chair,  Levi 
lowered  the  awning  over  the  west  window,  and 
courteously  sat  down  opposite  his  visitor. 

"It  is  years  since  we  met,  Mr.  Markham,"  Olive 
Treadwell  said;  "but  you  have  been  very  kind  to  me, 
meanwhile.  I  am  not  one  to  forget. " 

Markham  nodded  his  head  and  lowered  his  eyes. 
After  a  decent  pause  Mrs.  Treadwell  continued, 
feeling  her  way  through  her  remarks  like  a  cautious 
person  stepping  gingerly  over  a  mental  ice  pond. 
She  always  seemed  to  leave  a  subject  open  to  more 
than  one  interpretation  and  by  the  lifting  of  Mark- 
ham's  eyebrows  or  the  raising  of  his  eyes  she  chose 
her  footing.  The  raising  of  his  keen  eyes  under  the 
shaggy  brows  was  very  disconcerting  and  illuminating. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  219 

"I  know,  my  dear  Mr.  Markham,  that  you  are  not 
as  worldly  as  I  am;  I  am  confident  that  along  certain 
lines  of  conventions  we  will  differ  now,  as  we  have  in 
the  past,  but,  being  worldly  I  cannot  bear  that  an  in 
justice  should  be  done  that  would  cause  you  to  act  in 
such  a  way  as  to  defeat  your  own  aims  and  ideals. " 

The  eyebrows  went  up  as  if  they  were  on  springs, 
and  Mrs.  Treadwell  leaped  to  a  safer  footing. 

"Of  course,  when  I  refer  to  worldliness,  I  mean 
social  worldliness.  I  have  learned,  I  have  been 
forced  to  learn,  the  justice  of  your  once-proposed 
dealing  with  my  Lans  before  he  went  to  college. 
Your  business  sense  cannot  be  questioned.  Had  the 
boy  been  placed  in  your  hands  then,  I  really  believe 
his  outlook  on  life  would  have  been  clearer  and  finer. 
He  has  associated  with  those  who  have  coloured  his 
views  by  —  well,  let  us  say,  artificial  lights.  Still, 
the  boy  is  the  best  of  his  kind  —  I  will  say  that  for 
him.  I  hope  I  can  make  you  believe  that  I  have 
come  to  you  to-day  entirely  for  your  own  best  in 
terests  —  not  his!" 

And  now  the  steely  eyes  met  the  soft  brown  ones 
and  demanded  the  nearest  approach  to  truth  that 
Olive  Treadwell  had  to  offer.  She  flushed  and  went 
back  to  her  former  place  of  safety  and  tried  again. 

"Let  us  resort  to  no  subterfuge,"  she  said  with  a 
charming  smile. 

"Thank  you,"  Levi  nodded  and  again  lowered 
his  lids. 


220  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"To  be  quite  frank,  then,  what  I  mean  is  this: 
I  recognize  that  you  are  one  of  the  few  men  who 
regard  your  wealth  as  a  trust;  your  capacity  for 
acquiring  wealth  a  talent  for  which  you  are  responsi 
ble.  As  I  said  before,  I  feel  that  had  I  realized  your 
true  motives  at  the  time  Lans  graduated  from 
preparatory  school,  I  would  have  been  eager  to  place 
him  in  your  charge  to  learn  the  great  business  of  life 
and  the  use  of  wealth  in  your  way.  I  made  an 
error;  I  confess  it  willingly.  Since  then  I  have 
heard  of  your  wise  and  private  charities " 

"I  never  give  charity,  madam!" 

"You  are  so  modest!  Well,  your  understanding 
helpfulness. " 

"Simply  good  business,  madam." 

"Very  well  —  good  business!  and  that  brings  me 
to  my  point.  I  have  always  said  that  if  I  must  trust 
myself,  my  confidence,  or  my  money  to  any  one,  I 
would  choose  a  person  who,  by  training,  instincts, 
and  possibilities  most  nearly  was  akin  to  myself. 
I  sincerely  believe  inheritance  and  blood  do  count. 

Now  just  suppose "  Mrs.  Treadwell  gingerly 

put  her  weight  on  the  next  footing;  "suppose  you 
were  obliged  to  intrust  your  wealth  and  future 
interests  to  one  of  two  men,  would  you  not  feel  safer 
in  the  hands  of  the  man  who,  for  family  reasons  and 
by  inherited  tastes,  could  understand  you  and  your 
ideals?" 

"Certainly,  madam." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  221 

"You  know  when  a  test  comes  you  have  to  take  a 
good  deal  for  granted  in  one  who  has  no  tie  of  blood 
to  hold  him  to  you  ? " 

"May  I  request,  madam,  that  you  tell  me  exactly 
what  you  mean  in  as  few  words  as  possible?  I  see 
that  you  are  embarrassed  by  what  you  have  been 
kind  enough  to  come  to  tell  me  —  I  believe  it  will 
help  us  both  if  you  state  your  facts  without  further 
explanation  or  preparation. " 

The  tide  had  carried  Olive  Treadwell  out  into 
midstream  —  it  was  sink  or  swim  now! 

"I  will  do  so.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  duped  by 
your  adopted  —  shall  I  say,  son?" 

"I  have  never  held  the  position  of  father  to  young 
Morley.  I've  helped  him  to  find  himself  as  I  have 
many  another  young  man.  He  has  no  reason  to 
dupe  me.  We  understand  each  other  fairly  well; 
better,  I  think  than  most  old  men  and  young  ones." 

"  Exactly !    That  is  what  you  think. " 

"It  is." 

"Very  well,  then  listen.  Remember  I  would  not 
have  come  to  you  if  I  had  not  had  evidence.  You 
take  exception  to  Lans  and  his  ways  of  life,  I  have 
been  informed  that  you  have  even  called  him  a  — 
a  —  libertine!" 

"With  modifications  —  yes!" 

"I  do  not  ask,  Mr.  Markham,  that  you  try  to 
withhold  your  judgments  until  you  know  -all  the 
facts  about  my  boy.  You  were  never  fair  to  him; 


222  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

you  saw  him  —  you  see  him  now  —  through  his 
father,  my  poor  brother!" 

"Madam,  for  his  mother's  sake  I  have  always 
kept  in  touch  with  his  career  even  when  I  knew  he 
was  beyond  any  caution  or  judgment  of  mine.  I 
know  that  he  has  shamefully  compromised  a  young 
woman  and  quite  openly  flaunts  his  relations  with 
her  by  calling  them  some  new-fangled  name.  Per 
haps  I  am  a  narrow-gauge  man,  madam.  All  my 
life  I  have  been  obliged  to  travel  from  a  certain 
point  to  a  certain  point  —  I'm  made  that  way.  I 
have  endeavoured  to  look  about  to  help  my  fellow- 
men,  when  I  could  in  justice  do  so,  but  I  have  stuck 
to  the  tracks  that  seem  to  me  to  lead  safely  through 
the  land  of  my  journey.  I  am  not  interested  in 
branch  roads  or  sidings." 

Mrs.  Treadwell  was  a  bit  breathless  and  angry  but 
she  was  too  far  from  shore  yet  to  indulge  in  relaxa 
tion. 

"Lans  is  not  an  evil  fellow;  he  is  high-minded 
and  will  prove  himself  in  due  time.  I  really  am  only 
seeking  to  help  you  be  patient  until  he  has  had  his 
opportunity,  and  not,  in  the  meantime,  make  a  fatal 
mistake.  A  new  era  is  about  to  dawn  when  men 
and  women,  for  the  good  of  the  race,  will  attack  social 
conditions  from  a  different  plane  from  what  you  and 
I  have  been  taught  to  consider  right.  Lans  is  in 
the  vanguard  of  this  movement  —  but  I  only  im 
plore  you  to  give  him  time  and  while  we  are  waiting 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  223 

let  me  ask  you  this  — would  you  be  more  lenient  to  — 
to  this  protege  of  yours  than  you  are  to  Lans,  if  I 
could  prove  to  you  that  he  has  been  hiding  his 
private  life  from  you  entirely?  Has,  apparently, 
laid  himself  bare  to  your  confidence  and  good-will 
while,  in  a  secret  and  shameful  manner,  he  has  had 
very  disreputable  relations  with  a  young  woman  in 
Boston?" 

Levi  Markham  took  this  blow  characteristically: 
he  sighed,  raised  his  eyes  to  the  speaker's  face,  and 
said  calmly: 

"I  thank  you,  madam,  for  your  interest  in  my 
affairs.  I  can  readily  see  that  you  would  not  dare 
come  to  me  with  this  matter  unless  you  had  facts. 
I  appreciate  your  good-will  toward  me  and  Lans, 
but  I  am  just  wondering  if  this  —  this  relationship  of 
Sandford  Morley's  with  a — with  the  young  woman, 
might  not  be  viewed  as  leniently  as  Lansing's  — 
if  all  were  known  ?  He  might  call  it  by  a  new-fangled 
name,  you  know." 

"Why,  Mr.  Markham!  His  intrigue  is  a  low, 
vulgar  thing.  That  is  exactly  what  I  am  trying  to 
make  you  understand.  The  difference  lies  right 
there.  Lans  is  open  and  above-board;  he's  a 
gentleman.  This  young  Morley  is " 

"Well,  well,  madam!"  Levi  held  up  his  hand 
calmly  silencing  the  indignant  voice.  "I  know 
Lansing  has  taken  every  one  into  his  confidence  who 
•chose  to  lend  an  ear;  we  riave  all  shared  his 


224  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

whether  we  approved  or  not  and  I  will  say  this: 
young  Morley  has  never  asked  any  one  to  play  con 
fessor  for  him,  but  I  am  going  to  give  him  an  oppor 
tunity  to  speak  for  himself  if  he  wants  to. " 

"He  will  lie,  sir." 

"He's  the  worst  liar  you  ever  saw,  Mrs.  Tread- 
well." 

Just  how  to  take  this  Olive  Treadwell  did  not 
know.  She  was  distracted.  She  felt  that  Markham 
was  playing  with  her!  Perhaps  he  knew  all  about 
Morley's  escapades  and  preferred  them  to  Lans' 
newer  ideals. 

"You  will  investigate  for  yourself?"  she  pleaded; 
"in  justice  to  Lans?" 

"In  my  own  way,  Madam." 

"You  mean " 

"That  I  will  look  to  my  own  interests  as  I  always 
have.  When  all  is  said  and  done,  ma'am,  there's 
no  law  in  the  State  that  confines  me  to  leaving  my 
savings  to  any  particular  young  man.  I  have  still, 
I  hope,  a  few  years  to  my  credit.  I  promise  you  I 
will  devote  them  to  securing  the  best  possible  good 
for  the  trust,  as  you  so  well  put  it,  in  my  keeping. 
You  are  quite  right  also  in  saying  that  I  consider 
the  power  of  money-making  a  talent.  It  is  my  only 
talent  and  I  do  not  underestimate  it. " 

"You  are  a  —  hard  man,  Markham.  Time  has 
not  softened  you." 

"I  will  still  endeavour  to  be  just,  madam.     I  will 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  225 

tell  you  this  —  if  I  discover  that  I  have  been  duped, 
I'll  give,  outright,  a  good  sum  of  money  to  you  in 
trust  for  Lansing!" 

"You  think  I  —  I  have  simply  tried  to  blacken 
Morley's  character  for  personal  gain?" 

"No,  no,  Mrs.  Treadwell.  I  ascribed  the  best 
possible  motives  to  you!" 

"Levi  Markham  —  I  cannot  understand  you." 

"Why  should  you  try,  madam?" 

Olive  Treadwell  got  up  and  paced  the  room. 

"You  humiliate  me!"  she  said  angrily.  "Of 
course  I  desire  my  brother's  son  to  inherit  rightfully. 
He  will  have  all  that  I  die  possessed  of.  I  am  seek 
ing  his  interests  but  only  justly  and  humanly. 
When  he  first  came  in  contact  with  this  — •  this 
investment  of  yours  —  as  you  call  him,  it  was  as 
tutor  to  this  Morley.  Consider!  tutor,  my  brother's 
son,  to  your  —  your  waif!  And  the  dear,  noble  fel 
low  —  my  Lans,  fell  in  love  with  him.  Has  trusted 
and  helped  him.  socially.  Why,  he  made  his  college 
life  easy  for  him  by  his  own  popularity.  Quite  by 
accident  I  discovered  the  vulgar  intrigue  of  this  — 
this  Morley.  I  saw  him  go  into  a  house  where  a 
little  seamstress  of  mine  lives!  I  inquired;  I  found 
him  out;  and  —  and,  not  for  any  low  gain,  but  gain 
in  the  larger,  higher  sense  I  pocketed  my  pride  and 
came  to  you  as  helpless  women  do  come  to  strong 
men  and  you  make  me  feel  like  a  —  village  scandal 
monger!' 


226  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madam.  I  am  sorry  that 
my  manner  suggests  this  to  you.  But  can  you  not 
see  that  I  must  master  this  situation  in  my  own  way? 
I  cannot  sell  out  my  interest  in  my  investment  with 
out  reason.  Give  me  a  —  week  —  no  forty-eight 
hours!" 

"Thank  heaven!"  Olive  Treadwell  exclaimed, 
"  there  is  the  carriage.  No  matter  what  the  outcome 
of  this  is,  Levi  Markham,  I  reckon  you'll  live  to 
thank  me  for  putting  you  on  the  right  track." 

"I'm  still  on  my  narrow  gauge,  madam."  Mark- 
ham  smiled  not  unkindly  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"Please  bid  your  sister  farewell.  I  shall  not 
return  to  Bretherton,  I  imagine.  I  will  never 
willingly  abase  myself  again,  not  even  for  Lans!" 

When  she  had  gone  Markham  sank  into  the  big 
leather  chair  and  looked  blankly  before  him.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  across  the  desk  where  he  himself 
generally  sat,  and  a  kind  of  pity  moved  him  for  the 
part  of  him  that  no  one  ever  knew  or  suspected. 
In  Sandy  Morley,  he  had  realized  nearer  his  yearning 
and  ambition  than  he  ever  had  before.  His  paternal 
instincts  had  been,  to  a  certain  degree,  gratified. 
The  boy  had  seemed  so  entirely  his;  had  responded 
so  splendidly  to  his  efforts  for  him.  They  had  grown 
so  close  together  during  the  past  years  in  their 
silent,  undemonstrative  fashion.  Could  it  be  possi 
ble  that  he  had  been  deceived? 

And  then  Markham  pulled  himself  together  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  227 

went  around  the  desk  to  his  revolving  chair.  It  was 
as  if  the  stern  man  of  affairs  took  control  and  de 
manded  of  the  doubting  creature  opposite,  common 
sense  and  plain  justice.  "Hold  your  horses,  Levi, " 
he  cautioned;  "bide  your  time.  Don't  get  scared 
off.  Do  you  remember  that  old  mine  that  no  one 
else  took  stock  in?  It  bought  and  feathered  your 
first  nest!  Just  you  hold  to  that  and  keep  your 
mind  easy  until  you  get  onto  the  job  yourself!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SANDY  came  down  from  Boston  that  evening, 
tired-eyed  and  dusty.     He  walked   up  from 
the  station  because  he  had  taken  an  earlier 
train  and  he  wanted  the  walk  through  the  quiet,  sweet 
woods  and  fields  before  he  met  the  two  friends  from 
whom  he  always  kept  his  worries  and  troubles.     By 
the  time  he  entered  the  house  on  the  hill  he  would 
be  himself  again! 

And  what  had  the  seven  years  done  for  and  with 
Sandy  Morley?  Outwardly  they  had  wrought  won 
ders  with  him.  He  was  over  six  feet  tall,  broad  and 
good  to  look  upon.  His  clean-cut  dark  face  was 
rather  stern  and  serious,  but  his  eyes  had  caught  and 
held  the  light  and  kindness  the  world  had  shown 
him  since  he  left  Lost  Mountain.  When  Sandy 
smiled  you  forgot  his  sternness;  he  could  look  very 
joyous,  but  recent  happenings  had  set  a  seal  upon 
his  brighter  side.  Well  dressed  and  well  cared  for 
he  strode  ahead,  taking  a  cut  be  knew  well  through 
the  woods  and  pastures  leading  up  to  the  farmhouse, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  years  the  homesickness  for 
Lost  Hollow  surged  over  him.  Always  in  his 
deeper,  more  thoughtful  moods  the  old  home-place 

228 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  229 

had  a  part.  For  years  he  rarely  ate  a  meal,  when  he 
was  hungry,  without  a  grip  of  memory  taking  a 
flavour  from  the  food.  His  hours  of  ease  and  pleas 
ure  were  haunted  by  grim  recollections  of  toil  and 
dreariness  which  he  had  once  endured,  and  which 
others,  like  him,  were  still  undergoing.  He  never 
forgot,  never  became  callous;  but  as  time  went  on 
and  success  became  more  certain,  he  learned  to 
estimate  the  value  of  utilizing  his  chances  and 
economizing  his  strength  and  powers.  As  in  the 
old  days  of  preparation  among  the  hills,  he  put  in 
safe  keeping  his  earnings,  never  counting  them; 
never  trusting  himself  to  the  encouragement  or 
depression  of  their  amount  for  good  or  ill  —  he 
awaited  his  hour  and  call.  And,  too,  as  in  the  old 
days  he  mistrusted  and  feared  Molly,  so  now  there 
were  moments  when  he,  superstitiously,  expected 
some  one  or  some  thing  to  defeat  him  in  his  aims  and 
ideals.  For  never  had  his  vision  faltered.  He  was 
still  preparing  to  help  Lost  Hollow  and  all  them  who 
dwelt  therein. 

There  had  been  times  in  the  past  when,  strange  to 
say,  with  good  food  in  plenty  about  him,  he  had 
yearned  with  hungry  longing  for  the  rough  ash  cakes 
and  sour  milk  of  his  early  home;  and  there  would 
always  be  hours  when  he  would  raise  his  eyes  in 
soul-sickness  and  pray  for  a  glimpse  of  Lost  Moun 
tain  —  the  one  lofty  thing  in  his  one-time  little 
world.  And  the  first  few  springs  after  his  leaving 


230  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

his  home  he  was  ill  when  he  saw  the  dogwood  blos 
soms  — •  they  called  to  the  depths  of  his  nature  and 
the  depths  answered  not!  He  had  kept  the  vow 
made  to  himself  —  he  would  neither  write  nor  seek 
word  from  the  hills  until  he  were  ready  to  go  back 
to  his  own. 

The  first  days  at  school  were  tortured  experiences, 
but  he  mastered  them  first  by  physical  courage,  then 
by  sheer  fineness  of  character.  He  made  great  strides 
after  the  second  year,  and  when  he  graduated  from 
the  New  Hampshire  Preparatory  he  was  read^,  with 
some  tutoring,  to  enter  Harvard.  Oddly  enough 
Lansing  Treadwell  became  his  tutor,  neither  know 
ing  more  of  the  other  than  the  circumstances  de 
manded.  Again  Sandy's  rare  disposition  won  for 
him  a  place  in  TreadwelPs  good  will  and  liking.  The 
young  tutor  prided  himself  upon  his  own  popularity 
and  social  position;  he  made  a  virtue  of  his  necessity 
for  earning  money  and,  in  good  natured,  lordly 
fashion,  blazed  a  trail  for  his  uncle's  protege  with  a 
laugh  of  indifference  at  his  own  defeat  with  his 
austere  relative. 

When  in  due  time  Morley  graduated  with  honours 
from  college  none  was  more  generous  with  praise 
and  pride  than  Lansing  Treadwell. 

"By  Jove!  my  friend,"  he  said,  "I'm  nothing 
but  a  big,  bungling  giant  without  genius  or  talent. 
Let  me  set  you  on  my  shoulders  and  you'll  conquer 
the  world  —  our  nice,  little  world  of  Boston!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  231 

But  Sandy  had  no  social  ambitions.  When  his 
summer  work  in  the  mills  was  over,  he  found  his 
greatest  pleasure  at  Bretherton  with  Markham  and 
Matilda  and  old  Bob.  And  then,  when  sudden 
necessity  lashed  him  to  unexpected  endeavour,  he 
went  to  young  Treadwell  and  said  simply: 

"I  am  not  going  to  work  in  the  mills  this  vacation; 
Mr.  Markham  has  offered  me  a  trip  somewhere,  but 
I  have  need  of  money  for  personal  uses  and  I  must  — 
earn  some.  Can  you  help  me?" 

And  again  Lansing  Treadwell,  with  a  grin  of 
amused  understanding,  put  Sandy  in  the  way  of 
tutoring  a  rich  man's  sons. 

And  now,  Morley,  tired,  sad  at  heart,  needing  what 
he  was  too  generous  and  unselfish  to  ask  for,  was 
responding  to  Markham's  summons  and  was  on  his 
way  to  Bretherton. 

Of  course  neither  Markham  nor  his  sister  could 
understand  his  need  of  sympathy  and  tenderness. 
Proudly  he  had  withheld  his  private  cares  and  trou 
bles.  He  accepted  from  others  only  what  he  might 
some  day  hope  to  return;  he  never  drew  a  check 
on  the  bank  of  sympathy  without  taking  account 
of  his  savings! 

When  Sandy  came  in  sight  of  the  beautiful  old 
house  on  the  hill,  and  when  but  a  meadow  lay  between 
him  and  it,  he  gave  a  long,  sweet  bird-call  and  waited. 
A  second  time  he  called  and  then  he  saw  Bob  loping 
over  the  front  lawn  and,  with  upraised  sniffing  nose, 


232  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

caper  about.  A  third  trill  settled  the  dog's  doubts, 
and  with  an  abandon  that  age  could  not  overcome 
he  ran  and  jumped  to  the  unseen  friend. 

"Good  old  fellow!"  cried  Sandy  when  Bob  drew 
near;  "good  old  pal!"  And  then  the  dog  was  in  the 
young  fellow's  arms.  After  a  few  moments  they 
sedately  went  on  their  homeward  way  together  — 
Sandy's  hand  resting  upon  the  uplifted  yellow  head. 

"Sandy,  you  look  thin!"  Matilda  remarked  at 
dinner  as  she  eyed  him  over  her  spectacles.  "You 
make  me  think  of  the  lean  days  after  your  fever  seven 
years  ago." 

"I  reckon  I  am  still  growing,  Miss  Markham." 

Levi  scanned  the  young  face. 

"Mill  work  never  used  you  up, "  he  said  slowly. 

"It's  not  work,  sir.  It's  been  right  hot  in  town, 
and  you  know  the  city  a  ways  stifles  me." 

"Umph!"  said  Markham. 

After  Matilda  had  gone  to  bed  that  evening  Levi 
sat  on  the  broad  piazza  with  Sandy,  while  a  late 
yellow-red  moon  rode  majestically  in  the  sky  and 
lighted  the  dew-touched  meadow  land. 

"Looks  hot,"  Levi  murmured;  "hot  and  dry." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Sandy.  Then  quite  suddenly 
Markham  asked: 

"Sandford,  I  wish  you  to  tell  me  exactly  why  you 
wanted  extra  money  this  summer.  I  say  wish, 
because  I  know  I  have  no  right  to  demand  your 
confidence,  but  I  do  think  I  have  a  right  to  protect 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  233 

you  against  —  well,  against  yourself  when  it  comes 
to  personal  injury.  You  trusted  me  seven  years 
ago  with  your  confidence;  you've  talked  pretty 
openly  to  me  during  your  school  and  college  years. 
Reports  speak  louder  than  words  —  but  we've  kept 
in  touch  with  each  other.  I  make  no  claims,  but 
I'd  like  to  think  you  know  I  am  your  friend. " 

Just  then  the  moonlight  shifted  to  Sandy's  face 
and  lay  across  it  in  brilliant  clearness. 

"I  can  tell  you  better  to-night,  sir,  than  I  could 
have  a  week  ago,  for  the  need  is  past  now.  I  have 
only  kept  it  to  myself  because  it  has  never  seemed 
right  that  I  should  ask  more  of  you  than  you  offered 
to  give  —  and  this  was  my  affair  —  mine  alone. " 

"I  see!"  muttered  Markham,  and  his  jaw  set,  not 
with  doubt  of  Sandy,  but  with  detestation  of  the 
woman  who  earlier  in  the  day  had  driven  him  to 
attack  this  boy's  sacred  privilege  of  independence 
and  privacy. 

"It  began,  sir,  when  I  was  in  the  midst  of  class 
work  in  June.  I  was  having  a  particularly  good 
time,  you  may  remember,  when,  one  night,  a  messen 
ger  came  to  my  rooms  and  said  some  one  wanted  to 
see  me  near  the  gate  of  the  Square.  It.  was  a  girl, 
sir,,  though  she  looked  a  woman;  a  poor,  sad,  sick 
creature  from  my  home  —  my  half  sister,  Molly! 
I  did  not  know  her  at  first.  She  was  right  little  and 
pretty  when  I  last  saw  her,  but  cruelty  and  want  had 
turned  her  into " 


234  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Levi's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  still,  white  face 
of  the  speaker,  and  his  heart  hurt  him  for  very  pity. 
He  could  not  let  the  boy  say  the  word. 

"And  she — •  what  did  she  want?"  he  asked  so 
sternly  that  Sandy,  even  with  his  reverence  for 
Markham,  took  up  arms  in  his  sister's  defence. 

"Don't  judge  her  harshly,  sir;  you  do  not  know  our 
hills.  Molly  was  a  mighty  weak  little  girl,  and  when 
temptation  came  to  her,  she  hadn't  strength  to 
resist,  and  they  who  should  have  defended  her  — • 
sold  her!  I  was  not  there,  so  I  cannot  be  hard 
upon  her,  though  she  thought  I  meant  to  be  at  first. 
You  see  I  was  so  shocked  and  surprised,  and  amid  all 
the  happenings  I  had  almost  forgotten.  She  threat 
ened  me,  sir.  It  was  right  pitiful.  She  said  every 

one  was  dead  —  her  mother;  our  father " 

Sandy's  voice  faltered  —  "she  was  alone.  She 
hadn't  forgotten  her  old  ways  either.  You  remem 
ber  that  I  told  you  how  as  a  little  girl  she  had  threat 
ened  the  —  the  treasure  under  the  rock  beyond  the 
Branch?"  Markham  nodded. 

"Well  —  she  threatened  the  treasure  of  to-day. 
She  was  for  finding  you  out  and  begging  —  so  — 
well,  I  bought  her  off!  for  I  would  not  have  you 
haggled  and  be  made  to  repent  your  helping  of  me. 
I  have  kept  her,  sir,  in  a  little  room  in  a  corner  of 
Boston  all  summer.  It  was  a  neat  and  comfortable 
place,  with  a  tree  at  the  window.  After  a  time  she 
trusted  me !  At  first  it  was  hard  for  her  to  keep  — 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  235 

well !  —  I  reckon  when  one  let's  go  as  poor  Molly  did 
—  it  is  right  difficult  to  hold  on  long  to  a  new  and  safer 
course.  But  —  she  died  four  days  ago!  She  was 
alone,  sir,  with  her  head  on  the  window  sill;  her  poor 
little  face  set  toward  the  tree.  I  had  had  a  doctor 
for  her  —  she  had  been  feeling  ill  —  it  was  heart 
trouble  —  she  went  without  pain.  I  saw  her  buried 
to-day  —  some  time  in  the  future  I  am  going  to  take 
her  body  to  Lost  Mountain.  She'll  really  rest  there, 
I  reckon." 

The  moonlight  passed  from  the  white,  tired  face 
and  Levi's  aching  eyes  closed,  taking  the  vision  of 
Sandy  with  them.  He  recalled  the  boy's  manner 
through  the  closing  scenes  of  his  college  life;  the 
outward  calmness  and  grateful  appreciation  while 
the  hideous  trouble  was  eating  the  joy  from  the  hours 
of  triumph  he  had  so  bravely  won.  He  reflected 
upon  the  following  weeks  of  toil  and  lonely  labour 
with  that  poor,  dying  girl  in  the  background  taking 
his  life  blood  as  once  she  had  taken  his  hard-earned 
money.  Then  when  he  could  bear  no  more  Levi 
Markham  got  up  and  walked  over  to  Sandy.  He 
laid  a  trembling  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  by  stern 
effort  controlled  his  voice. 

,  "My  boy!"  he  murmured;  "my  —  boy!vwords 
come  hard;  I'm  not  an  easy  talker  —  but  —  you  and 
I  are  both  tuckered  out.  I  have  never  had  a  vaca 
tion  in  my  life  —  a  real  vacation.  I've  always 
packed  business  and  worry  in  my  satchel.  Will  you 


236  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

come  across  the  water  with  me,  lad?  Let  us  try  to 
see  if  there  is  any  play  in  us.  Let's  have  a  look  at 
some  regular  mountains  and  some  second-rate  cities 

—  and  when  we  get  back  I  want  you  to  travel  up  to 
that  tumble  down  Hollow  you  hailed  from,  and  take 
my  money  along;  we'll  begin  repairs  at  once  —  you 
bossing,  I  paying  the  bills.     We'll  set  it  going  some 

—  you  and  1 !     As  to  this  trip  abroad  we'll  take 
'Tilda  along  to  keep  us  straight  and  —  and  make  us 
comfortable,  Sandy!" 

But  Sandy's  head  was  bowed  on  his  clasped  hands 
and  the  first  tears  he  had  shed  in  years  were  trickling 
through  his  fingers. 

"You'll  come,  Sandy  Morley?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  —  I  want  to  tell  you,  my  boy  —  that  I'm 
satisfied  with  my  flyer  of  an  investment  Come! 
Com*3:!  You've  acted  the  part  of  a  man  before  you've 
been  a  boy.  You  and  I  have  earned  —  a  vacation. " 

An  hour  later  Markham  tapped  at  Matilda's  door 
and  the  prompt,  "Come  in,  Levi, "  caused  him  a 
moment's  uneasiness. 

"Insomnia?"  he  asked,  drawing  a  chair  close  to 
his  sister's  bed. 

"Just  a  little  wakefulness,  brother.  Now  don't 
get  fidgetty.  I'm  real  satisfied  to  lie  here  and  think 
of  my  blessedness  and  comfort.  It's  gratifying  to 
recall  all  your  possessions  in  the  night.  They  say 
worries  stand  out  clearest  then,  but  with  me  it's  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  237 

other  way.  My  troubles  just  vanish  and  every 
living,  breathing  pleasantness  comes  to  the  fore. 
Now,  you,  for  example,  Levi.  I  was  praising  God 
about  you  as  you  knocked.  You're  a  changed 
man,  brother.  You  were  always  a  good  man,  but  to 
be  flat-footed  I  must  say  that  there  was  a  time  when 
conversation  with  you  was  like  jogging  along  over  a 
stony  road.  One  got  so  many  bumps  that  it  didn't 
seem  worth  while.  I  used  to  get  terrible  lonely  at 
times,  for  I  wouldn't  take  pleasures  and  leave  you 
out  —  it  always  has  seemed  to  me  that  you  never 
got  the  right  change  for  what  you  spent,  and  I 
wanted  to  do  my  share  in  keeping  you  company 
if  you  ever  felt  the  lack.  And  then  that  poor  little 
fellow  came  tumbling  into  our  lives  same  as  if  God 
had  sent  him  rolling  down  the  mountain  to  our  door. 
If  ever  there  was  a  blessing  in  disguise,  it  was  Sandy! 
I  tell  you  he's  a  pretty  comforting  creature  to  hold 
to  when  you  lie  awake  nights.  A  minute  ago  I  was 
saying  over  and  over  —  "thank  God  for  Sandy!" 
He  gets  closer  to  you  than  you  think,  Levi  —  it's 
his  way  and  he's  the  strongest,  gratefullest  fellow. 
Every  time  I  look  at  him  lately  I  think  of  the  saying 
—  strength  of  the  hills. " 

And  now  Levi  sought  and  found  the  thin,  blue- 
veined  hands  folded  peacefully  upon  the  white 
coverlid. 

"  Sandy  found  the  starved  mother  and  father  in  us, 
Matilda.  His  need  met  ours,  and  God  blessed  us  all." 


238  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That's  a  true  word,  brother.  You  and  I  were 
real  pinched  in  our  aims  and  longings  in  the  offset. 
Do  you  remember  how  you  always  wanted  learning 
and  college,  and  how  I  actually  was  besotted  about 
traipsing  around  the  world?  Such  dreams  as  we 
managed  to  make  up!  I  have  the  old  geography 
now  with  pin  points  all  up  the  side  of  the  Alps  where 
you  and  I  counted  the  height  and  then  said  we  didn't 
believe  it!  Well,  you've  found  success  without 
college,  and  I've  found  peace  without  travel. " 

Levi  patted  the  cool,  old  hands  tenderly.  Sandy's 
story  had  somehow  made  Matilda  very  precious. 

"But  lands,  Levi!  We  are  all  old  children  and  go 
on  with  our  foolish  dreams  till  we're  tucked  in  at  last 
for  good  and  all.  Maybe  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to 
own  to  this,  but  I  lie  here  nights  and  actually  make 
believe  I'm  Sandy's  mother.  Mother's  an  awful 
comforting  word  to  women  as  well  as  children. " 

"  Well,  Matilda,  I'll  own  up  to  the  same  side  play. " 
Levi  laughed  softly;  "the  night  he  graduated  I  closed 
my  eyes  and  listened  to  him  reading  off  that  fine 
stuff  and  —  for  a  spell  I  fathered  him  and  got  real 
thrilled.  But  what  I  came  to  say  to  you  to-night, 
'Tilda,  is  no  dream  unless  you  can  class  it  as  a  dream 
come  true.  Beginning  to-morrow  morning,  I  want 
that  you  should  go  into  town  and  shop. " 

"Shop,  Levi?"  Matilda  leaned  up  on  her  thin 
elbow  and  scanned  her  brother's  face  in  the  white 
light  of  the  moon.  "Shop,  Levi?  Shop  for  what?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  239 

"Why  —  things!  Have  all  the  help  you  can  get 
and  take  a  reasonable  time,  but  I'd  like  to  have  you 
get  real  stylish  fixings.  I'd  like  real  well  for  you  to 
have  a  lavender  frock,  something  like  that  Tread- 
well  woman  wears.  You  and  Sandy  and  I  are  going 
vacationing!" 

"Lands,  Levi!  Vacationing  just  as  canning  time 
is  coming?" 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it.  What's  the  fun  in  a 
vacation  if  you  ain't  running  away  from  plain  duty  ? " 

"Why,  Levi,  I  do  declare!     Where  are  we  going?" 

The  dear  old  face  was  shining  in  the  ghostly 
gleam. 

"Oh!  we're  going  to  see  mountains  that  will  make 
Mt.  Washington  and  Lost  Mountain  look  foolish. " 

"Levi,  don't  trifle  lightly  with  God's  handiwork. 
I've  always  held  that  scenes  of  nature  ought  not  be 
compared  —  its  real  presumptious." 

"Well,  then,  Matilda,  we're  going  to  do  the  grand 
tour!" 

"Levi,  you  surely  are  romancing." 

"I'm  going  to  buy  tickets  to-morrow  for  about  the 
middle  of  September!" 

"You  can't  be  serious,  brother?" 

"  I  am  going  to  spend  money  —  for  nothing  once 
in  my  life!  I'm  going  to  get  what  we  want  and  not 
count  the  change!" 

"It  sounds  scandalous,  Levi!" 

"It's  going  to  be  a  —  scandal. " 


24o  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"What  a  sight  we  three  will  be,  Levi. "  The  dear 
old  soul  chuckled.  Like  a  child  she  had  at  last 
caught  the  contagion  of  Markham's  humour.  "I 
just  know  them  foreigners  will  think  we  are  a  pair  of 
fond  parents  with  our  one  chick  and  child.  Do  you 
think  we  need  tell  right  out  that  we  aint,  Levi? 
When  it  isn't  necessary,  couldn't  we  keep  ourselves  to 
ourselves  and  —  make  believe,  with  the  ocean  be 
tween  us  and  them  that  know,  that  Sandy  is  ours?" 

"We  can,  Matilda.  And  I  want  that  Sandy 
should  get  his  fill  of  paintings.  Did  you  ever  know 
how  he  leans  to  art?  Why,  he's  got  about  a  square 
acre  of  sketches  among  his  belongings  — •  he's  shown 
me  some,  and  while  I  do  not  set  myself  up  for  a  critic 
I  do  say  that  there  is  feeling  in  his  stuff. " 

"I've  seen  that  dogwood  one  he  carries  about  with 
him,"  Matilda  answered,  leaning  back  on  her  pillow. 
"It  gives  me  the  creeps.  Times  are  when  I  fancy 
there  is  a  ghost  of  a  girl  face  in  the  flowers.  Sandy 
laughs  at  me  —  but  I've  caught  the  sight  more  than 
once  in  certain  lights  and  its  real  upsetting. " 

"Well,  I  want  that  he  should  take  all  the  art  in 
that  he's  capable  of  digesting,  and  I  want  you  to  see 
mountains  and  what  not  that  you've  hungered  after 
all  your  days  and  I  want  to  see  —  Paris!" 

"It's  a  real  outlandish  city  for  morals,  Levi." 

"Well,  it  will  make  me  glad  to  get  back  to  Boston, 
Matilda,"  Levi  chuckled.  "Now  lie  down  and  try 
to  sleep." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  241 

"I  feel  real  drowsy,  Levi.  My!  how  much  I  have 
got  to  be  grateful  for.  You  are  a  good  man,  brother. 
Time  was  when  I  feared  success  might  harden 
you." 

Levi  did  not  rest  well  that  night.  Alone  in  his 
prim,  old-fashioned  chamber  he  lay  and  made  plans 
for  the  future. 

"And  after  we  come  back,"  he  thought,  "I'm 
going  to  send  Sandy  up  to  the  hills  with  blank  checks 
in  his  pocket.  I'm  going  to  see  what  he  can  do  in 
the  way  of  redeeming  Lost  Hollow.  He'll  never  be 
happy  away  from  that  God-forsaken  place  —  it's 
in  his  soul  and  system.  There's  that  land,  too,  I 
bought  seven  years  ago!  That  oughtn't  to  be  lying 
fallow." 

Then  his  roving  thoughts  settled  on  his  sister. 
"Matilda  must  consent  to  more  help  here  in  the 
house  —  she  looks  peaked." 

A  sharp  pang  brought  him  to  an  upright  position. 
He  seemed  to  be  beside  lonely  Sandy  as  he  had 
stood  that  very  day  by  an  obscure  grave  —  some 
where  in  a  shabby  little  graveyard. 

"Matilda  has  been  one  sister  in  ten  thousand  and 
she's  asked  precious  little.  Caroline  got  things 
quite  naturally  while  she  lived  at  home  —  'Tilda 
took  the  leavings  always  and  patched,  somehow,  a 
thankful,  beautiful  life  out  of  them.  She's  going  to 
get  whole  pieces  of  cloth  from  now "  he  mut 
tered,  "with  Sandy  thrown  in." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PERHAPS  it  was  the  spring  air;  perhaps  it 
was  the  turn  in  the  tide  of  Cynthia  Walden's 
life,  but  whatever  it  was  it  roused  her  and 
gripped  her  from  early  morning.  At  six  o'clock  on 
that  May  day  she  awoke  in  her  shabby  room  of 
Stoneledge  and  looked  out  of  the  vine-covered  win 
dow,  heard  a  bird  sing  a  wild,  delicious  little  song, 
and  then  sat  up  with  the  strange  thrill  of  happiness 
flooding  her  heart  and  soul. 

It  was  a  warm  morning,  more  like  late  June  than 
late  May,  and  both  the  bird  and  the  girl  felt  the  joy 
in  the  promise  of  summer. 

At  nineteen  Cynthia,  like  the  spring  morn,  bore 
the  mark  of  her  coming  fulfillment  of  beauty.  She 
was  very  lovely,  tall,  slim,  slightly  bending,  like  a 
reed  that  had  bowed  to  the  wind  instead  of  resisting. 
The  child  look,  full  of  question  and  waiting,  was 
still  in  her  clear  blue-gray  eyes;  the  well-formed 
mouth  had  not  forgotten  its  pretty,  slow  smile,  and 
the  pale,  exquisite  whiteness  of  the  smooth  skin  was 
touched  with  a  delicate  tan  and  colour  that  did  credit 
to  Sally  Taber's  care  and  culinary  art. 

"I  feel,"  whispered  the  girl,  tossing  the  braids  of 

242 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  243 

her  smooth  gold-brown  hair  back  from  her  face; 
"I  declare  1  feel  as  if  something  was  going  to  happen 
long  o*  me!" 

Not  for  a  moment  did  Cynthia  imagine  anything 
ill.  Out  of  a  barren,  isolated  life  she  had  evolved 
and  held  to  the  strict  philosophy  she  had  once  con 
fided  to  Marcia  Lowe  in  the  little  church.  If  trouble 
overtook  her,  she  shielded  herself  as  well  as  possible, 
smiled  pleadingly  and  stepped  aside.  At  such 
courtesy  Trouble  had  obligingly  gone  on  leaving  the 
girl  of  nineteen  as  trusting  and  hopeful  as  a  child. 
The  old  house  had  crumbled  and  tottered.  Ann 
Walden  had  sunk  into  positive  imbecility  —  but 
Cynthia  had  kept  her  faith  and  love.  Sally  Taber 
still  ruled  the  Great  House  under  the  disguise  of  grate 
ful  dependent.  She  slept  in  the  loft  over  the  kitchen, 
made  life  a  possible  thing  for  a  helpless  woman  and  a 
young  girl,  and  asked  nothing  for  herself  in  return. 

"If  that  woman  doesn't  have  a  crown  studded  two 
deep  with  jewels  some  day,"  Marcia  Lowe  confided 
to  Tod  Greeley,  "I'll  miss  my  guess." 

And  Tod,  for  various  reasons,  did  what  he  could 
to  show  his  appreciation  of  the  old  woman's  nobility. 

"Yo*  sho'  do  give  proper  weight  to  us-all."  Sally 
often  told  him.  "Things  do  las'  mor'n  one  could 
expect,  fo'  de  money." 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to  run  the  risk  of  any  pesky  govern 
ment  investigation,"  Greeley  replied.  "Better  be 
on  the  safe  side,  I  reckon." 


244  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

And  now  Cynthia  again  remarked  to  the  pretty 
May  morning: 

"I  feel  as  if  something  was  going  to  happen  'long 
o'  me." 

Then  she  got  up  and  made  her  simple  toilet.  The 
shining  braids  were  wound  coronet-style  about  the 
shapely  head,  and  some  moments  were  devoted  to 
the  choice  of  a  gown.  There  were  three  hanging  on 
nails  behind  the  door  leading  to  the  hall;  a  checked 
gingham,  brown,  ugly  and  serviceable;  a  faded  pink 
chambray,  and  a  new,  dull  blue  linen.  This  last  was 
a  gift  from  Marcia  Lowe.  It  was  the  longest,  most 
modern  garment  Cynthia  possessed,  and  the  colour 
filled  her  awakening  artistic  sense  with  delight. 

"This  one!"  she  murmured,  and  smiled  at  her  own 
senseless  extravagance. 

"I  reckon  it's  right  silly,"  she  said;  "but  it's 
mighty  good  fun  to  wear  your  Sunday  frock  on  a 
Thursday!' 

Then  arrayed  and  glowing  with  pride  Cynthia 
contemplated  herself  in  her  tiny  mirror. 

"If  something  happens  'long  o'  me,"  she  nodded 
in  friendly  fashion  into  the  glass,  "it  will  find  me 
ready." 

After  breakfast  she  meant  to  go  to  Trouble  Neck 
and  help  Marcia  Lowe  with  her  "school."  The 
little  doctor's  school  was  the  newest  and  most  excit 
ing  innovation  in  The  Hollow.  The  student  list 
was  elastic  and  all  embracing.  Every  department 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  245 

of  life  was  taught,  as  and  how  it  were  possible.  The 
timid,  blighted  little  folks  were  lured  to  the  cabin  by 
all  means  at  Miss  Lowe's  command  and  fed  such 
crumbs  as  their  poor  wits  could  comprehend. 

"Let's  flip  out  the  grains,  Cynthia,  dear,"  the 
little  doctor  urged;  "perhaps  some  chick  can  swallow 
them.  We  must  make  hay  while  the  sun  shines. 
Crothers'  new  factory  is  looming  up  and  when  that 
whistle  blows,  good-bye  to  the  Trouble  Neck  Acad 
emy!" 

It  had  taken  nearly  seven  years  for  Smith  Crothers 
to  collect  his  insurance,  recover  his  health,  and 
begin  his  business  career  again.  He  had  left  The 
Forge  for  two  years,  and  since  his  return  had  gone 
slowly  about  his  work  of  rebuilding  and  entering  the 
arena.  Whatever  he  thought  or  remembered  of  the 
night  when  his  factory  was  burned,  no  one,  but  him 
self,  knew.  From  a  grim  shadow  of  his  former  self 
he  regained  his  health  and  looks;  he  nodded  to 
Cynthia  when  he  met  her  on  The  Way  and  the  girl 
tossed  her  head  at  him  indifferently.  Only  Marcia 
Lowe  was  anxious. 

"Cynthia,"  she  said,  "promise  me  that  you  will 
not  wander  in  the  woods  alone!" 

"Not  without  a  pistol,"  the  girl  replied.  "I'm  a 
mighty  good  shot,  dear  Cup-of-Cold- Water  Lady!" 

But  Marcia  Lowe  shook  her  head. 

When  Cynthia  went  downstairs  that  May  morn- 
Sal'y  Tr.bcr  had  the  plain  breakfast  on  the 


246  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

dining-room  table,  and  her  face  looked  drawn  and 
worried. 

"Miss  Cyn,"  she  said,  when  she  had  set  the  corn 
bread  and  milk  before  the  girl,  "las'  night  ole  Miss 
war  right  troublesome. " 

"You  have  been  up  a  good  deal,  Sally?" 

"I  sho'  have.  Ole  Miss  took  to  wandering  and 
nothing  would  suit  her  but  de  libry.  I  done  made  a 
fire  there  and  let  her  play.  She  done  dig  at  the 
hearthstone  an'  laughed  and  babbled  'til  long  'bout 
three  o'clock,  then  I  carried  her  upstairs  and  laid  her 
in  her  bed  same  as  if  she  was  a  HI'  tired  out  babby." 

"Dear  Sally!"  Cynthia's  eyes  shone.  "I'll  stay 
home  to-day  and  let  you  sleep. " 

"I  reckon  you  will  do  nothin'  like  that!  Ole  Miss 
will  be  good  for  mos'  the  morain'  an'  Fse  goin*  to 
patch  up  the  libry.  If  ole  Miss  takes  a  fancy  to 
that-er-room,  she  goin'  to  have  what  she  wants! 
If  she  wants  to  pick  'long  o'  the  hearthstone,  she  is 
goin'  to  do  that;  I'll  loosen  it  up. " 

"I  will  watch  her  to-night,  then!"  Cynthia  said, 
"and  I'll  be  back  right  early  this  evening,  Sally." 

Just  as  Cynthia  reached  The  Way,  she  met  Martin 
Morley. 

"Good  morning,  HI'  Miss  Cyn,"  he  greeted; 
"  seems  like  you  be  part  of  this  yere  pretty  day. " 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Morley.  You  look  right 
smart  and  dandified." 

Morley  was  neatly  and   decently  attired  and  his 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  247 

calm,  clear  eyes  were  steady  and  full  of  purpose. 
The  "charm"  had  held  good  with  him,  and  ever  since 
the  well-fought  battle  in  the  little  doctor's  lean-to 
chamber,  he  had  gradually  worked  his  way  back  to 
self-respect  and  content.  Mary  and  Molly  had  drifted 
from  his  life  so  effectually  that  he  had  accepted  the 
inevitable  and  never  mentioned  their  names. 

"Where  you  going,  Mr.  Morley?" 

"I  am  going  down  to  The  Forge,"  Martin  an 
swered.  "They-all  say  the  young  manager  for  that 
company  what's  going  to  build  a  factory  up  higher 
has  come,  and  I'm  going  to  try  and  get  a  job." 

"Do  you  believe  there  is  going  to  be  a  factory, 
Mr.  Morley?  Do  you  believe  Smith  Crothers 
would  let  any  one  have  a  factory  so  near  his?" 

"They-all  do  say,  Miss  Cynthia,  that  that-er 
company  what  sends  this  young  man,  is  powerful 
rich  and  upperty.  They-all  do  say  that-er  company 
ain't  so  much  as  consulted  with  Smith  Crothers. " 

"It  must  be  a  mighty  brave  company!"  The  slow 
smile  touched  the  sweet  lips. 

"Mr.  Morley,  I  wonder  if  you  will  ever  hear  from 
Sandy?" 

"Sho'I  Miss  Cynthia,  you-all  make  me  right 
creepy.  1  woke  up  this-er  morning  from  a  dream  'bout 
Sandy.  It  was  a  right  techersome  dream,  but  dreams 
be  techersome.  I  dreamed  that  Sandy  was  daid, 
and  yet  I  woke  up  right  cheerful.  I've  reasoned  it 
out  this-er-way.  Sandy  is  daid  to  me,  HI'  Miss 


248  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Cynthia,  but  alive  out  in  a  bigger,  wider  life  and 
sho'  a  right  minded  father  should  be  mighty  glad  of 
that.  I'm  willing  to  give  Sandy  to  a  better  life. " 

The  old  face  twitched.  "It's  'bout  all  I  can  do 
for  my  son." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Morley,  you're  right  noble  but  I  don't 
believe  Sandy's  like  that.  He's  just  waiting  till 
he  has  a  mightyfine  something  to  bring  backto  us-all, 
and  then  we'll  see  him  coming  up  The  Way  as  brave 
and  smiling  as  can  be." 

Martin  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  don'  doubt  it,  HI'  Miss  Cynthia.  It's  seven 
long  years  now!  I've  taken  a  right  smart  heap  of 
comfort  mending  up  the  cabin  and  painting  it  and 
planting  vines  and  flowers  about.  It  has  been  the 
happiness  I've  allowed  myself  —  getting  ready  for 
Sandy  that  ain't  never  coming!  Good  morning,  just 
wish  me  luck  'bout  the  job.  The  getting  ready 
means  something  even  if  you  don't  ever  get  what 
you're  making  ready  for." 

And  with  this  Martin  Morley  went  down  The  Way 
toward  The  Forge  to  seek  his  luck  with  the  stranger 
who  had  arrived  a  few  days  before  to  begin  opera 
tions  on  a  certain  piece  of  land  which  had  been 
bought  by  a  man  —  no  one  could  recall  his  name  — 
seven  years  ago! 

Cynthia  stood  under  the  trees  by  the  road  after 
Martin  left  and  fell  into  a  reverie.  It  was  early. 
By  walking  a  little  faster  she  could  reach  Trouble 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  249 

Neck  in  time  for  the  possible  pupils,  and  the  lure  of 
the  morning  held  her.  Looking  up  to  catch  more 
distinctly  the  note  of  a  bird,  she  noticed  how  white 
and  splendid  the  dogwood  flowers  were  on  the  tree 
under  which  she  stood. 

"They  certainly  do  look  like  stars!"  she  whis 
pered.  The  day  seemed  pulsing  with  thoughts  of 
Sandy  Morley!  Not  for  years  had  he  been  so  in  her 
mind.  To  be  sure  the  hole  in  the  tree  near  Stone- 
ledge  was  quite  rilled  with  letters  written  to  an 
imaginary  somebody  called,  for  convenience,  Sandy 
—  the  "Biggest  of  Them  All."  But  Cynthia's  ideal 
bore  little  likeness  to  the  actual  Sandy,  and  her 
letters  had  become  but  the  outpourings  of  a  heart 
that  must  create  its  own  Paradise  or  perish.  Sandy 
Morley  had  faded  into  an  indistinct  blur,  but  the 
romance  he  had  awakened  bore  the  girl  far  and 
away  from  the  common  life  of  The  Hollow. 

"I  thought,"  the  uplifted  face  glowed  rosily; 
41 1  thought  I  heard  —  a  new  note!  Some  strange 
bird ! "  Then,  with  a  toss  of  the  head  which  threw  the 
broad  brimmed  hat  back  on  the  shoulders,  "I  must 
be  getting  right  daffy!  That's  the  bird  Sandy  Mor 
ley  used  to  copy  mighty  cleverly.  I  could  do  it 
myself  once  —  I  wonder!"  The  pretty  lips  curved 
deliciously,  and  an  effort  was  made  to  reproduce  the 
sound.  Sweetly,  faintly  it  trilled  and  ended  in  a 
light  laugh. 

From  the  underbrush  lower  down  beside  The  Way, 


250  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

a  young  man  looked  at  the  upraised  face  under  the 
dogwood  tree;  listened  to  the  answer  to  his  call  and 
felt  his  heart  throb  with  such  force  that  his  lips  drew 
close  with  the  pain  of  joy.  For  a  few  moments  he 
gazed  and  struggled  for  self-control  but  great  waves 
of  happiness  and  delight  overpowered  him.  He 
dared  not  move,  but  he  sent  a  swift  prayer  to  heaven 
—  a  prayer  for  guidance  in  a  new  life  amid  the  old 
home-scenes  for  which  his  faithful  heart  had  yearned 
while  he  had  wandered  far. 

Cynthia's  quick  ears  caught  the  rustle  of  the 
bushes  across  The  Way  and  instantly  her  face 
changed  and  her  hand  gripped  something  in  a  little 
bag  at  her  side.  The  stranger  thought  it  wisest 
to  step  out.  This  he  did  with  a  laugh  of  under 
standing. 

"Oh I"  exclaimed  Cynthia  Walden,  "I  certainly 
do  beg  your  pardon.  I  —  thought  —  I  thought 
you  were  Smith  Crothers. " 

The  sudden  fear  wrung  this  candid  confession  from 
the  girl.  "  I  reckon  you  don't  know  Smith  Crothers." 

"I  —  I've  heard  of  him  recently. " 

"I  expect,"  Cynthia  was  full  of  interest  now. 
"I  expect  you  are  the  man  from  the  North." 

"You  are  quite  right." 

"Now  I'm  right  sorry  you  didn't  get  here  fifteen 
minutes  ago." 

The  stranger's  face  flushed  under  its  tan  and  the 
broad  felt  hat,  in  the  right  hand,  shook  perceptibly. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  251 

"Mr.  Martin  Morley  has  gone  down  The  Way 
to  see  you.  He  reckons  you  will  give  him  a  job. " 

At  this  the  man  leaned  heavily  against  a  pine  tree 
and  stared  at  the  girl.  Had  he  heard  aright?  For 
months  he  had  believed  Martin  Morley  was  dead  — • 
long  dead! 

"Yes,  Mr.  Morley  was  just  here  talking  about 
the  new  factory  up  in  the  mountain. " 

To  hear  Cynthia  say  mountain  was  to  love  the 
high  places  better  all  the  days  of  your  life.  So 
lingeringly  and  tenderly  did  the  soft  voice  deal  with 
the  vowels  and  consonants  that  they  suggested  all  the 
beauty  and  strength  of  the  hills.  The  man  opposite 
closed  his  eyes  from  sheer  delight  while  the  word 
sank  into  his  consciousness  and  filled  the  empty 
places  of  his  heart. 

"He'll  miss  you,  I  reckon,  but  could  you  save  a 
job  for  him?" 

"I  can  and  —  will."  The  man  opened  his  eyes 
and  courageously  walked  across  The  Way  and  stood 
still,  hat  in  hand,  before  the  girl.  He  was  tall  and 
broad  and  good  to  look  upon  and  youth  went  out  to 
youth  cordially  and  frankly. 

"I  reckon"  —  the  homely  word  took  the  place 
of  the  Yankee  "guess"  naturally,  "I  reckon  you 
are  —  Miss  Cynthia  Walden?" 

"Yes."  Cynthia's  eyes  shone.  "Who— told  you  ? " 

"I  heard  about  you."  This  was  very  lame,  but 
it  answered. 


252  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"And  you  — sir?" 

"Oh,  I  am  —  the  man  from  the  North." 

**You  sound  like  you  had  Southern  blood." 

"My  father  and  mother  were  Southerners." 

"From  round  this-er-way?" 

Again  the  man  closed  his  eyes;  the  sweet  voice 
and  dear  familiar  expressions  were  almost  more  than 
he  could  bear. 

"Not  very  far  away." 

A  very  little  seemed  enough  to  pacify  the  girl's 
curiosity. 

"I  reckon  the  North's  mighty  big,"  she  ventured 
presently. 

"  It's  —  it's  —  tremendous. " 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  —  Massachusetts  ?" 

"I  came  from  there." 

"  Oh !    And  is  that  —  so  mighty  big  ? " 

"Not  so  big  as  the  whole  North.  Though  some 
still  think  it  is." 

"Did  you  ever  hear *'  Cynthia  paused  and 

clasped  her  hands  together;  "of  a  —  a  boy  named 
Sandy  Morley?  He  went  from  here  to  there  — 
long  ago?" 

It  was  a  wild  question,  but  the  day  was  so  haunted 
by  Sandy  that  the  words  came  of  their  own  volition. 

"I've  met  him;  yes,  I  know  him  slightly." 

The  colour  rose  and  faded  in  Cynthia's  face  and 
her  breath  came  quick  and  hard. 

"Oh!  tell  me  about  him.     He  came  from  this  — 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  253 

Hollow !  He  went  away  years  and  years  ago.  Tell 
me  —  what  has  he  become?" 

Yearning,  curiosity  and  honest  interest  marked 
the  words,  but  the  face  of  the  girl  was  a  child's  face, 
not  a  woman's.  "He  must  be  a  right  big  boy  now!" 

The  man  standing  in  The  Way  could  not  repress 
a  smile.  He  saw  that  Cynthia  Walden  had  in  fancy 
enshrined  the  boy  Sandy,  but  would  she  welcome  the 
man  Sandy  had  become?  Fearfully,  dreading  the 
test  that  must  be  made,  he  drew  nearer,  and  with 
lowered  eyes  bowed,  and  said: 

"lamSandyMorley!" 

Cynthia  gave  a  frightened  glance  at  the  tall,  dark 
stranger  in  the  road.  She  noticed,  as  if  for  the  first 
time,  his  high  laced  boots,  his  corduroy  trousers 
fastened  in  them,  his  flannel  shirt  and  felt  hat.  All 
was  fine  and  different,  oh !  so  different  from  the  rag 
ged  ugliness  of  the  hills.  That  a  stranger  should 
be  so  clad  did  not  interest  her,  but  that  her  child 
hood's  friend  and  slave  should  wear  this  livery  of 
position  shattered  the  beautiful  portrait  of  the  "Big 
gest  of  Them  All"  by  one  cruel  blow. 

"No!  You  cannot  be  Sandy  —  not  Sandy 
Morley. "  Cynthia  stepped  back  with  outstretched 
hands  as  if  to  ward  off  an  attack.  The  light  faded 
from  Sandy  Morley's  face  and  his  eyes  grew  dark 
and  pleading. 

"  I've  been  right  homesick  all  the  years, "  he  fal 
tered.  "I've  tried  to  make  myself  worthy  to  come 


254  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

back.  Always  I  have  dreamed  of  you  standing  as 
you  stand  now  under  the  dogwoods,  to  welcome  me, 
but  now  that  I  have  come  up  The  Way  I  find  myself 
a  —  stranger!" 

Cynthia  was  clutching  the  bough  of  a  tree  for 
support;  her  eyes  were  strained  and  pathetic. 

"I  —  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  expected, "  she 
whispered,  her  eyes  clinging  to  his;  "but  it  is  this-er- 
way.  I  have  made  a  different  Sandy,  and  I've  kept 
him  so  long  in  my  dreams  and  fancies,  that  to  see 
him  a  man,  hurts.  Oh!  it  hurts  here!" 

The  clasped  hands  touched  the  panting  bosom. 
Then  Sandy  came  close  to  her  and  laid  his  firm,  thin 
hand  upon  hers.  The  touch,  the  contact,  brought 
sharply  to  the  girl  the  memory  of  their  parting  when, 
beside  The  Way,  she  had  asked  him  to  marry  her 
some  day  and  Sandy  had  kissed  her! 

"Little  Cynthia,  try  to  make  a  place  in  Lost 
Hollow  for  the  man  Sandy,  who  has  come  home  a 
lonely  stranger." 

He  seemed  old  and  detached,  but  his  nearness  and 
the  memory  of  their  last  interview  composed 
Cynthia.  She  drew  back  and  the  withdrawal  hurt 
Sandy  more  than  she  could  know. 

"I  —  I  must  go!"  she  panted  and  turned,  as  in 
the  old  parting,  and  ran  without  one  backward  look. 

Sandy  stood  and  gazed  after  her  with  yearning 
eyes.  Outwardly  she  was  all  his  faithful  heart 
could  have  asked.  Her  face,  as  he  had  seen  it  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  255 

few  moments  ago  under  the  dogwoods,  seemed 
placed  there  by  some  kind  and  good  Providence  to 
welcome  him  to  his  own  after  all  the  waiting  years; 
the  child,  Cynthia,  he  had  lost  while  he  tarried  afar. 
Manlike  he  was  ready  to  accept  the  woman.  But 
Cynthia  was  not  a  woman,  and  her  immature  nature 
was  shocked  and  betrayed  by  him  who  had  come 
claiming  what  she  had  ready,  only  for  the  boy  of  her 
childish  faith  and  love. 

Sad  at  heart,  Sandy,  after  a  few  moments  of  re 
adjustment,  went  mournfully  up  the  trail  leading 
to  the  old  home-cabin.  One  bright  gleam,  alone, 
cheered  him.  There  had  been  some  mistake.  Mar 
tin  Morley  was  evidently  alive  and  to  him  Sandy 
must  look  for  welcome  and  the  renewing  of  old  ties. 

The  change  in  the  cabin  was  startling.  Empty, 
but  neat  and  pleasant,  the  living-room  stood  open  to 
the  fair  spring  day.  Flowers  were  standing  in  the 
windows  in  dented  tin  cans;  the  hearth  was  swept 
free  of  ashes  and  there  was  a  small  garden  in  the 
rear  of  the  house,  nicely  laid  out  and  planted.  It 
seemed  so  like  his  own  old  garden  that  Sandy  gazed 
upon  it  with  strange  emotions.  He  relived  sharply 
the  starved  years  of  preparation,  the  cruelty  and 
neglect.  He  went  inside  finally  and  sat  down  upon 
the  settle  by  the  hearth  and,  with  bowed  head,  gave 
himself  up  to  memory. 

An  hour  passed  and  then  a  step  outside  roused 
him,  but  he  did  not  turn. 


256  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Sir,  I  reckon  you  be  the  boss  of  the  new  factory. 
I  was  a-going  down  to  The  Forge  to  seek  you  out  and 
ask  for  work,  but  Tansey  Moore,  down  to  the  store, 
'lowed  that  'twas  you  who  had  passed  up  this-er-way. 
If  you  be  the  boss  could  you " 

But  he  got  no  further.  Sandy  could  not  run  the 
risk  of  another  clash  of  words. 

"Father!"  he  said,  standing  up  and  stretching  his 
arms  out  pitifully  to  Martin.  "Father!" 

Morley  recoiled  for  an  instant  and  his  eyes,  old 
and  dim,  struggled  to  see  clearly  the  figure  and  face 
before  him.  But  it  was  not  the  mortal  eyes  of  the 
man  that  saw  and  knew.  It  was  the  father  that 
reached  out  with  unerring  instinct  to  its  own! 
Martin  had  never  had  his  dreams  of  what  his  boy 
was  to  become;  he  was  there  to  accept  whatever 
God  in  His  mercy  sent  to  him. 

"Sandy!     HI' Sandy!     My  boy!" 

And  then  the  tottering  old  frame  was  gathered  in 
the  strong  young  arms. 

"Dad,  dear  old  Dad.  I've  got  a  right  good  job 
for  you!" 

That  was  all.  For  a  few  minutes  the  clock  on  the 
high  shelf  ticked  so  loudly  that  it  seemed  to  fill  the 
room  with  noise.  Neither  man  spoke,  but  they  clung 
desperately.  Presently  a  shadow  fell  across  the 
floor  and  Sandy  turned  his  head.  Old  Bob  had 
found  his  way  up  from  The  Forge  and  panting  and 
wheezing  began  to  sniff  around  the  room.  Almost 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  257 

blind,  yet  guided  by  that  sense  we  cannot  under 
stand,  he  had  sought  his  own  and  found  them.  With 
a  soft  cry  he  crouched  close  to  the  two  standing  by 
the  hearth  and  whined  piteously.  Martin  aroused 
and  stood  upright. 

"It's  — it's  Bob!"  he  cried.  "Oh,  Bob!  Oh, 
Bob!"  Then  falteringly:  "It's  all  right,  Bob,  she 
won't  trouble  you  now  —  she's  gone  for  good  and 
all!" 

That  was  the  only  reference  to  Mary,  and  Sandy 
did  not  tell  Martin  of  little  Molly's  fate  for  many 
a  day. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IF  ONE  can  forget  the  languor  of  the  summer 
and  the  fear  of  the  winter,  a  September  day 
among  the  hills  is  an  experience  to  set  the 
heart  singing.  The  fluttering  birds  in  busy  prepa 
ration  for  flight,  the  carpet  of  Persian  colours  and 
the  subtle  charm  of  the  smell  of  wood  smoke  in  the 
air,  all  combine  to  arouse  tender  thoughts  and  pen 
sive  desires. 

On  such  a  day  Cynthia  Walden  ran  down  the  trail 
from  Stoneledge  and  kept  to  the  side  of  The  Way 
where  the  leaves  were  thickest  and  the  damp  sweet 
ness  the  richest.  She  wore  her  blue  linen  —  it  had 
been  laundried  many  times  since  that  May  morning 
when  Sandy  first  saw  her  in  it;  but,  as  Sally  Taber, 
working  under  strict  instructions,  dried  it  in  a 
pillow  case  —  the  colour  was  still  true  blue  and  the 
shrinkage  slight. 

Many  things  had  occurred  during  the  past  four 
months.  Wonderful  breath-taking  things;  things 
that  aroused  many  emotions  and  many  passions. 
For  one  thing,  that  brave  company  in  the  North, 
which  Sandy  represented,  had  actually  had  the 
audacity  and  daring  to  start  operations  on  a  splendid 

258 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  259 

factory  building!  Smith  Crothers  was  sullenly, 
silently  watching  operations  and  making,  appar 
ently,  indifferent  threats  as  to  what  might  be  ex 
pected  to  happen  to  any  Hollowite  —  "man,  woman 
or  child  "  —  who  turned  from  him  and  his  interests  to 
the  factory  back  of  Lost  Hollow. 

"There  ain't  any  known  head  to  the  concern," 
he  said  one  night  at  the  County  Club,  "lest  you 
count  that  youngster  of  Morley's  as  a  head.  I 
leave  it  to  you  —  can  you-all  trust  a  Morley?" 

The  solemn  pause  before  Mason  Hope  ventured  a 
"no"  gave  Crothers  food  for  reflection.  Sandy  was 
making  his  way  into  the  confidence  and  appreciation 
of  his  people.  Slowly,  to  be  sure,  so  slowly  that 
often  he  sighed  disheartedly,  but  the  change  in 
attitude  was  noticeable  and  Sandy  knew  it  when  the 
sun  shone  and  Cynthia  Walden  deigned  to  speak  a 
pleasant  word  to  him. 

Beside  the  factory  and  near  to  it  ground  had  been 
broken  and  a  foundation  laid  for  a  building  about 
which  people,  especially  mothers,  spoke  in  hushed 
voices. 

"It  can't  be  true,"  Liza  Hope  had  said  to 
Mrs.  Tansey  Moore  one  day  as  they  dropped  in  to 
Theodore  Starr's  church  to  take  breath  and  a  dip  of 
anuff.  "A  Home-school !  that's  what  the  Cup-o'-Cold- 
Water  Lady  said  it  was,  and  when  I  axed  her  to  say 
it  plainer  and  not  so  polite,  she  done  'splain  as  how 
the  chillens,  our  chillens,  war  to  be  gathered  in  from 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

everywhere  —  even  factories,  —  and  teached  and  —* 
and  mothered!  That's  her  word  —  mothered!" 

"Don  t  them-all  think  us-all  is  —  mothers?" 
Mrs.  Moore  sniffed  contemptuously.  "Us  as  horned 
them  reckons  we-all  is  mothers. " 

"But  it's  this-er-way. "  Liza  was  Marcia  Lowe's 
interpreter  to  the  cabin-folk  and  was  gradually 
drawing  them  to  the  point  where  more  than  one  had 
gone  voluntarily  to  Trouble  Neck  and,  after  a  chat 
and  a  cup  of  tea,  had  uttered  the  mystic  word  "you- 
cum,"  which  meant,  uyou  call  on  me."  No  higher 
honour  could  a  mountain  woman  bestow  than  thisl 
But  Mrs.  Tansey  Moore  had  never  taken  the  little 
doctor  up  socially. 

"It's  this-er-way.  We-all  can't  act  out  what's  in 
us-all.  You  know,  Rose-Lily"  —  Mrs.  Moore  had 
one  of  the  funeral-design  names  which  so  often  deco 
rated  the  plainest  of  her  sex  among  the  hills  — "we-all 
just  get  caught  in  the  wheels  and  go  round  like  what 
we-all  have  to.  I  reckon  you  wouldn't  have  let 
your  Sammy- Jo  into  the  factory  if  the  heart  of  you 
could  ha'  spoke.  Seems  like  yesterday  when  I  saw 
them-all  totin'  Sammy-Jo  up  The  Way  to  kiss  you 
good-bye,  an'  him  only  ten  years  old  an'  dyin'  o* 
the  hurt  o'  the  wheels. " 

Rose-Lily  bowed  her  head  on  her  work-roughened 
hands  and  sobbed  miserably. 

"An'  I  reckon  I  wouldn'  ha'  let  my  po'  HI'  half-wit 
chile  go  —  if  I  could  ha'  helped  it.  When  Mason 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  261 

licked  him  down  The  Way  o'  mornin'  it  made  the 
soul  o'  me  sick.  When  the  factory  burned  I  thanked 
A'mighty  God  for,  starvin'  or  not  starvin,'  the  po' 
lir  feller  couldn't  go!  The  night  he  died  in  Miss 
Lowe's  cabin  when  she  war  tryin'  her  charm  on  him 
—  I  jes'  war  right  glad,  for  the  factory  down  to  The 
Forge  war  jes'  about  done  and  I  war  thankful  he 
couldn't  get  caught  in  the  wheels  agin!  I  tell  yo', 
Rose-Lily,  the  mother  in  us-all  don't  get  a  chance  in 
The  Hollow,  but  the  Cup-o'-Cold- Water  Lady  don' 
say  things  is  goin'  to  be  different.  She  'lows  that 
the  Home-school  will  jes'  make  up  to  us-all  for  what's 
been  denied. " 

Mrs.  Moore  moaned  softly  and  shook  her  head. 
"It  don't  sound  —  earthly!"  she  muttered. 

But  Cynthia,  tripping  light-heartedly  over  the 
gold  and  red  leaves  by  The  Way,  sang  her  gayest 
songs  and  cared  not  a  rap  for  the  new  factory  or  the 
unearthly  Home-school;  she  was  thinking  of  Martin 
Morley's  cabin  and  the  miracle  that  had  been  per 
formed  there.  She  was  bound  for  the  cabin.  Martin 
would  surely  be  away,  for  his  "job"  demanded  that 
he  should  watch  the  men  working  in  gangs  on  the  new 
buildings.  Sandy  was  up  North.  He  had  been  sum 
moned  there  by  Levi  Markham,  who  had  wanted  to 
come  to  The  Hollow  but  had  been  held  back  by  Sandy. 

"They  are  taking  me  hard,"  Sandy  had  written; 
'Met  me  have  time  to  win  them  over  before  you 
tome.  Your  money  is  a  great  drawback  to  me.  '* 


262  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Then  Markham  wrote  a  characteristic  command. 
The  faithful  old  heart  throbbed  through  every  line 
and  had  caused  poor  Sandy  to  laugh  until  he  cried: 

Then  come  up  North  at  once  with  reports  and  plans.  I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  my  hard  earnings  with 
out  knowing  why.  Matilda  —  isn't  very  strong.  She's  taken 
to  counting  her  blessings  nights  instead  of  sleeping.  By  the 
way  —  have  you  heard  anything  of  Treadwell?  His  new  f angled 
moral  van  has  gone  smash,  they  say;  not  called  by  its  old- 
fashioned  name,  and  he's  —  skipped.  If  you  hear  anything  of 
him,  let  me  know. 

Sandy  had  been  away  ten  days  and  every  day 
Cynthia  had  gone  to  the  cabin,  set  it  in  order  for 
Martin's  comfort;  revelled  in  the  wonder  of  it  all  and 
feasted  her  soul  on  the  books  in  Sandy's  study. 

Cynthia  had  slowly,  reluctantly  but  finally  given 
up  her  ideal  Sandy  of  the  past.  She  still  kept  his 
one  letter  to  her  and  her  hundred  and  one  letters  to 
him  in  an  oil-cloth  package  in  the  old  tree.  Some 
times  she  stole  away  and  read  them  and  cried  a  little, 
softly,  forlornly,  as  a  little  girl  might  do  for  a  broken 
doll.  "The  Biggest  of  Them  All"  relegated  to  his  fate, 
Cynthia  had  turned  to  this  new  son  of  the  Hills  with 
frank  and  open  mind.  She  weighed  him,  considered 
him  and  found  him  interesting.  She  was  sensitive 
to  success,  and  this  practical,  good  natured,  kindly 
Sandy  was  decidedly  successful.  He  was  as  modest 
and  unassuming  as  one  could  desire,  but  he  had  only 
to  wave  his  hand  and  say  so-and-so  and  lo!  the  old 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  263 

cabin  grew  and  became  beautiful,  a  factory  sprang  up, 
then  a  dream  of  a  school  which  included  everyone  and 
everything.  It  was  like  a  modern  fairy  story  —  the 
most  exciting  and  compelling  thing  one  could  imagine. 
Slowly,  cautiously,  Cynthia  with  childish  curiosity 
approached  this  new  being  who  had  arisen  on  her 
horizon.  Sandy,  wise  in  the  lore  of  the  hills,  lured 
her  as  cautiously.  He  had  subdued  his  own  emo 
tions.  He  was  a  man;  his  life  had  developed  him; 
she  was  still  a  child  with  the  radiant  woman  of  her 
blindly,  gropingly,  looking  forth  from  the  dear, 
blue-gray  eyes.  He  could  wait.  She  would  be  his 
dream  of  the  hills  and  some  day  she  would  come  true 
and  he  would  tell  her  how  he  had  always  loved  her; 
how  her  pale,  sweet  face,  under  the  dogwood  flowers, 
had  kept  him  strong  and  pure  and  unspoiled  through 
all  the  yearning  years.  He  could  wait  until  Cynthia, 
the  woman,  awoke  and  —  looked  at  him!  In  the 
meantime  he  worked  and  grew  marvellously  happy 
in  his  earnest,  quiet  way.  He  made  a  seat  for  her  in 
his  study  window  —  though  she  never  knew  how 
carefully  he  had  arranged  it,  or  how  desperately  he 
had  struggled  to  get  the  right  colour  for  the  cushions. 
"Red,"  Levi  had  suggested  when  approached  as  to 
window-seat  coverings.  "Green,  a  good  dark  tone, 
is  a  wearing  shade,"  Matilda  had  informed  him,  but 
Sandy  chose  blue  —  "the  shade  that  looks  as  if  it 
sank  deeper  and  deeper,"  he  explained  to  an  artistic 
designer,  and  the  man  had  not  laughed ! 


264  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Sandy  bought  and  scattered  books  about  in  his 
study  where  Cynthia  might  run  across  them  at  will, 
and  sometimes  during  his  rare  moments  of  leisure 
and  enjoyment  she  would  nestle  on  her  window  seat 
in  his  study  while  he,  his  back  to  her,  painted  at  his 
easel  near  the  north  window.  At  such  times  Cynthia 
liked  the  new  Sandy  almost  as  well  as  the  old  and 
was  gloriously  content  and  happy.  Poetry  entered 
her  life  then  for  the  first  time  —  poetry  through 
books,  through  Sandy's  modest  attempts  at  art,  and 
through  Sandy  himself. 

"Let  us  go  out  windowing,"  he  coaxed  her  on«  day 
when  they  had  had  a  golden  hour  together. 

"Windowing,  Sandy?     What  is  windowing?" 

"Why,  we'll  go  around  to  the  cabins  and  coax  or 
bully  the  people  to  let  us  make  windows  in  their 
homes  —  big,  fine  windows  with  glass  that  slides 
easy,  up  and  down  or  sideways  as  one  may  prefer, 
I  want  it  done  before  winter  sets  in." 

"They-all  will  think  us  all-around  cracked!" 

"Let's  try!  Windows  for  sale!  we'll  cry.  It  will 
be  mighty  jolly." 

So  they  had  set  forth  with  the  result  that  by  August 
Tod  Greeley  remarked  to  Marcia  Lowe  that  he  was 
"dog-dickered  if  the  cabins  didn't  look  like  show 
cases  surrounded  by  clapboards!" 

When  Cynthia  reached  the  Morley  cabin  that  rare 
September  day  she  paused  to  look  upon  the  splen 
dour,  and  was  thrilled  anew  at  the  changes  and  im- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  265 

provements.  To  the  southwest  end  of  the  cabin 
three  new  rooms  had  been  added.  Two  bed-cham 
bers  and  a  cosy  sitting-room. 

"For  that  Company  up  North  when  it  comes 
down!"  Sandy  explained. 

"It  must  be  a  mighty  upperty  Company!" 
Cynthia  replied,  looking  in  awe  at  the  furniture 
which  had  been  sent  from  some  magic  workshop. 

"It  is!"  Sandy  assented  —  viewing  solemnly  the 
enamelled  bedstead,  the  cheap  chairs  and  plain 
bureau. 

"And  real  carpets  on  the  floors!" 
"Yes.  The  Company  has  tender  feet." 
The  old  living-room  of  the  cabin  had  been  more 
leniently  dealt  with.  Sandy's  passion  for  windows 
had  been  indulged,  but  its  furnishings  were  designed 
for  comfort  without  shock  to  Martin's  habits. 
The  kitchen  in  the  lean-to,  also  windowed  to  the 
limit  of  space,  had  been  given  over  to  the  imagina 
tion  —  nothing  else  could  possibly  have  accounted 
for  it  —  of  Marcia  Lowe.  Shining  rows  of  things 
never  dreamed  of  in  The  Hoilow  hung  on  the  walls 
or  graced  the  shelves.  The  future  might  prove 
them,  but  the  present  wreathed  them  in  the  charm  of 
mystery.  The  women  came  and  looked  upon  them 
in  silent  wonder  and  talked  of  them  afterward  in 
hushed  voices.  A  good-sized  range,  also,  stood 
where  once  the  dirty  hearth  was  the  only  shrine  to 
which  the  family  food  was  intrusted  during  prepara- 


266  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

tion.  Even  Sandy  approached  this  innovation  with 
ingrained  reluctance,  but  Marcia  Lowe  was  over 
coming  his  timidity  and  Cynthia  had  already  con 
quered  its  mysteries  and  was  instructing  Martin. 

The  greatest  change  on  the  Morley  place,  however, 
was  the  one-time  shed  bedroom  of  Sandy.  The  first 
time  Sandy  entered  the  crumbling  shanty  such  a 
wave  of  bitterness  and  depression  engulfed  him  that 
he  realized  he  must  either  reclaim  it  or  it  would 
triumph  over  him.  To  tear  it  down  would  not  have 
solved  the  problem;  its  absence  would  have  been  a 
more  final  acknowledgment  of  his  defeat.  The  years 
of  fear,  loneliness,  and  want  were  ever  to  be  vital 
realities  of  his  life;  the  shed  was  the  setting  of  his 
childish  agony  and  spiritual  growth  —  oh,  that  was 
it!  He  must  not  stamp  the  poor  shell  from  sight; 
he  must  redeem  it  as  his  patient  suffering  had  re 
deemed  him.  He  must  make  it  a  place  to  which 
those  he  loved,  those  who  needed  him,  might  come 
knowing  that  welcome  and  understanding  awaited 
them. 

It  seemed  a  miracle  to  see  the  dusty,  crumbling 
place  evolve  into  that  bright  study  with  its  big,  open 
fireplace,  outside  chimney,  and  the  sacred  window- 
seat.  Overhead  were  two  small  bedrooms,  opening 
into  each  other  —  Martin's  and  Sandy's.  Plain, 
severe  rooms  they  were ;  rooms  into  which  the  morn 
ing  sun  shone  and  into  which  the  setting  sun  glowed 
when  nature  smiled.  On  the  shingle  roof  the  rain 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  267 

pattered  musically,  and  no  winter  cold  could  conquer 
the  heat  which  a  certain  drum  stove  in  Martin's 
room  managed  to  create  and  diffuse.  On  Martin's 
stand  beside  his  narrow  bed  a  lamp  stood  and  near  it 
a  Bible.  Martin  had  learned  again  to  pray  and  often 
Sandy  read  the  sacred  book  to  him  respecting  al 
ways  the  fiction  as  to  poor  eyes  and  ignoring  the 
illiteracy  which  the  old  man  bitterly  and  secretly 
deplored. 

At  last  Cynthia  entered  the  study  after  a  minute 
inspection  of  the  house.  The  breakfast  dishes  were 
washed  and  put  away;  Martin  was  neat  and  orderly. 
His  bed  had  been  made  and  Sandy's  was  untouched. 

"Still  away!"  whispered  the  girl  and  sank  upon 
the  window- seat  while  a  thrill  of  pleasure  brought 
the  slow  smile  to  the  sensitive  lips. 

"Oh,  the  pretty  day!"  Then  a  desire  to  set  the 
place  in  perfect  order  for  Sandy's  possibly  near- 
return  caused  her  to  spring  up  and  dart  quickly  from 
place  to  place,  straightening  a  picture  here,  flicking 
the  dust  off  the  shelves  and  chairs,  and  lastly 
attacking  the  cluttered  desk  which  had  not  been 
touched  since  the  master  went  away. 

Sandy  was  not  orderly  by  instinct.  Dirt  dis- 
trewed  him,  but  superficial  chaos  seemed  never  to 
disturb  him.  He  could  lay  his  hand  on  whatever  he 
wanted  amid  the  layers  of  papers,  books,  and  writing 
material. 

"It's   right   Sandyish,"   murmured    Cynthia;  "I 


268  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

wonder  if  he  will  —  mind?"  Never  before  had  she 
thought  of  arranging  the  desk.  Carefully,  almost 
breathlessly,  she  piled  some  magazines  in  one  place; 
some  papers  in  another.  The  pens  and  pencils  were 
stuck  together  in  the  yawning  mouth  of  a  particularly 
fierce  silver  gargoyle  who  evidently  had  been  created 
to  devour  such  articles,  and  then  —  at  the  bottom 
of  the  mass  Cynthia  came  upon  a  book  which  had 
been  quite  hidden  from  sight.  It  was  an  open  book; 
a  book  marked  at  a  certain  place.  There  was  a 
strange  familiarity  about  the  book  which  caused  the 
girl  to  take  it  up  with  trembling  surprise.  The  blue 
and  gold  cover  recalled  emotions  long  since  forgotten. 
How  could  she  know  that  Sandy  had  scoured  many  a 
Boston  book  store  for  just  that  edition,  causing  the 
proprietors  much  annoyance  and  trouble? 

"Pilgrim's   Progress!" 

Then  backing  to  the  window-seat,  Cynthia  sat 
down  and  feasted  her  eyes  first  upon  the  cover,  then 
upon  the  words  marked  by  an  illuminating  pencil : 

Without  doubt  her  designs  were  bad.  But  stay,  now  you 
talk  of  her,  methinks  I  either  have  seen  her,  or  have  read  some 
story  of  her.  .  .  .  Doth  she  not  speak  very  smoothly  and 
give  you  a  smile  at  the  end  of  a  sentence? 

The  book  fell  from  Cynthia's  hands  and  lay  mo 
tionless  on  her  lap.  Her  fair  face  raised  itself  rigidly 
and  the  clear  eyes  looked,  not  at  the  cheerful, 
home-room,  but  back  through  the  years :  the  sombre, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  269 

shabby  years  —  until  they  caught  and  held  a  girl  of 
twelve  demanding  something  —  something  so  tre 
mendous  !  —  from  a  poor,  trembling  boy  but  a  little 
older  than  herself!  Then  the  old,  half-doubting 
promise  sounded  and  —  a  kiss  fell  upon  Madam 
Bubble's  lifted  mouth! 

"Oh!"  The  word  came  on  a  shuddering  sigh 
and  the  fixed  eyes  faltered  in  their  rapt  look.  A 
flood  of  rosy  colour  spread  from  brow  to  chin, 
and  shame  —  not  joy  —  claimed  Cynthia  Walden. 
Understanding  rushed  upon  her,  a  blind,  hideous,, 
wrong  understanding,  but  none  the  less  terrible. 
Cynthia  had  forgotten  the  shadow  of  her  parentage 
—  for  many  years  it  had  sunk  into  insignificance, 
The  years  had  ignored  it,  no  call  had  come  for  its 
recognition,  but  now  —  she  understood.  She  had 
always  been  more  the  daughter  of  her  bad  father 
than  of  her  sad  mother!  That  was  why  she,  a  little 
girl,  had  spoken  so  to  Sandy  and  brought  that 
strange  look  to  his  face!  She  had  not  comprehended 
it  then,  but  she  remembered  it  now !  It  confronted  her 
like  a  tangible  thing.  Because  she  was  her  father's 
daughter  Smith  Crothers  had  —  kissed  her!  Men 
wanted  to  kiss  her!  On  that  fearsome  night  of  the 
fire  Crothers  had  only  shocked  and  wounded  the 
outer  fold  of  Cynthia's  soul;  the  innermost  shrine 
had  been  guarded  by  the  woman  Cynthia  was  by 
and  by  to  become;  but  now  Cynthia  felt  she  was 
that  woman  and  all  subterfuge  was  denied. 


270  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Sandy  understood.  He  had  not  forgotten.  Out 
In  his  big,  free  world  he  had  learned  what  Madam 
Bubbles  were  and  still  he  had  come  back  and  been 
kind  to  her!  Sandy  never  forgot.  Big,  brave,  and 
tender,  he  had  set  himself  to  the  task  of  keeping  his 
word  and  fulfilling  his  vision.  He  had  shielded  poor 
Molly  —  he  had  told  her  the  pitiful  story  without 
its  gruesome  details!  He  had  come  back  to  Lost 
Mountain  to  help  the  men  and  women  and  save  the 
baby-things !  He  had  come  home  to  —  keep  his 
word  with  her,  with  Madam  Bubble!  That  was 
why  he  was  so  gentle,  so  thoughtful. 

"Oh!  oh!"  The  moan  was  almost  a  wail,  but  no 
tear  dimmed  the  large  eyes. 

"The  Biggest  of  Them  All!"  Then  the  strained 
face  relaxed  and  a  glory  touched  it. 

"But  I  —  I  can  be  next  biggest,"  she  faltered. 
"You  are  right  noble  —  but  I  can  help  you,  Sandy!" 

Then  very  reverently  the  book  was  replaced  upon 
the  desk  and  a  pencil  taken  from  the  gargoyle's 
mouth.  Clearly,  distinctly,  another  passage  was 
traced  by  a  wavering  mark: 

The  man  in  the  cage,  the  man  and  his  dream,  the  man  that 
cut  his  way  through  his  enemies  —  the  biggest  of  them  all! 

Sandy  was  to  read  those  words  by  and  by  with 
varied  emotions! 

Then,  having  marked  and  turned  to  the  page 
originally  left  open,  Cynthia  drew  herself  up  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  271 

looked  about  the  dear  room  as  if  taking  a  last  look 
before  going  on  a  long  journey. 

And  so  Sandy  came  upon  her.  He  had  arrived  at 
The  Forge  earlier  in  the  day  and  had  walked  up  The 
Way  because  his  heart  was  full  of  the  joy  of  life  and 
Jie  wanted  to  be  alone  and  think  his  thoughts.  He 
had  been  so  lonely  without  his  father,  Lost  Mountain, 
his  people  and  —  Cynthia!  Not  even  the  love  and 
gratitude  he  held  for  Levi  Markham  and  Matilda 
could  hold  him  long  from  his  own,  without  regret. 
And  they  were  coming  to  him  soon  —  the  Markhams 
—  they  were  coming  for  the  holidays  and  he  must 
make  ready! 

Noiselessly  he  entered  his  study  and  stood  for  a 
moment  revelling  in  the  sight  of  the  girl  of  his 
thoughts,  materializing  before  his  amazed  eyes.  He 
could  hardly  believe  his  senses;  the  day,  the  place, 
were  bewitched,  and  he  had  been  so  hungry  for  — 
just  this!  Unconsciously  he  stretched  out  his  arms 
and  his  strong,  dark  face  was  flushed;  his  serious  eyes 
glad  and  kind. 

"  Little  Cyn!" 

She  turned, and  her  colour  faded.  Pale,  imploring, 
she  almost  ran  to  him. 

"Sandy!" 

Now  that  she  had  understood  and  triumphed  she 
could  afford  to  be  kind,  too,  and  strong  and  brave. 
Something  in  the  frank,  unflinching  eyes  warned 
Sandy  to  content  himself  with  the  outstretched 


272  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

hands,  although  the  soul  of  him  yearned  to  hold  the 
girl  to  him. 

"You  are  glad  to  see  me  back,  HI'  Cyn?" 

The  old  intonation  thrilled  the  listener,  but  her 
eyes  held  true. 

"Oh!  so  glad.  JTis  a  mighty  empty  room  you 
leave,  Sandy  Morley,  when  you  go  away. " 

"Cynthia  —  I  wonder   if   I  dare  tell  you  some 
thing?" 

"Yes."     It  were  better  now  and  over  with! 

"Do you  remember  that  once  I  made  a  promise  to 
you,  dear?" 

This  was  unfortunate,  but  the  girl  took  it  without 
a  quiver  of  the  white  lids. 

"All  my  life,  since  manhood  came  to  me,  and  it 
came  early,  little  girl,  I  have  lived  and  dreamed  of 
the  hour  when  —  I  might  keep  that  promise.  I 
have  waited  because  you  seem  still  a  child  to  me, 
dear,  but  I  —  want  you  1  I  want  the  child  of  you  — 
I  will  hold  it  sacred  and  win  the  woman  of  you  by 
and  by.  Do  you  not  remember  how  in  those  old,  old 
days  it  was  you  who  taught  me,  awoke  my  imagina 
tion  and  —  helped  me  to  my  own  ?  Dear  HP  Cyn  — 
help  me  now!  Help  me  help  these  dear  people^ 
yours  and  mine!  I  need  you  so,  sweetheart,  and  I 
will  be  good  to  you !  Marry  me,  lil'  Cyn,  marry  me 
right  away  and  let  us  go  on  together!  I  can  do  so 
much  for  you  and  yours  —  sweet " 

But   Sandy  got  no  farther.     The  hands   in  his 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  273 

wrenched  themselves  free  and  sought  his  shoulders. 
The  very  frankness  and  simplicity  of  the  gesture 
sent  a  chill  to  Sandy's  heart. 

"Big,  good  Sandy!"  There  was  a  subtle  plea  in 
glance  and  words.  The  girlish  need  was  driving  the 
desperate  woman  back  and  out  of  sight.  Cynthia 
could  not  kill  the  truth  that  had  been  born  within 
her,  but  she  could  blind  it,  stun  it  and  still  keep  for 
her  own  what  the  childish  craving  demanded. 

"Big,  good  Sandy!  Please  be  my  Sandy,  like  you 
were  a  brother.  I  would  be  so  lonely  without  you; 
I  would  miss  this  —  this  dear  place  mighty  bad — 
but  if  you  say  such  words,  if  you  forget  I  am  still  HI* 
Cyn,  why  don't  you  see  —  I  cannot  come  up  this-er- 
way  any  more?" 

So  perfect  was  the  attempt  that  it  took  all  the  girl's 
pride  and  strength  to  hold  it.  It  was  a  bit  overdone 
and  Sandy  fell  back  a  step  with  a  memory  that  Cynthia 
would  never  have  resurrected  had  she  had  her  way. 

"I  —  am  not  worthy  of  you,  Cynthia.  I  had  for 
gotten,  dear.  You  see,  for  seven  years  I  have  lived 
where  such  things  did  not  matter;  I  have  learned 
that  they  do  not  matter  when  all  is  said  and  done. 
Can  you  not  trust  me  and  forget  that  a  Walden  and 
a  Morley  are  different : 

"Oh!  Sandy!"  and  now  the  white,  white  face 
turned  scarlet  —  "you  think  that  of  me?" 

"  It's  in  the  blood  of  us  all,  Cynthia,  but  you  and  I, 
by  forgetting  it  —  can  do  so  much." 


274  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"It  is  not  that,  Sandy." 

"I  know,  dear,  that  I  am  old  beside  you  —  I  know 
that  I  dare  much  when  I  say  I  am  willing  to  take  you, 
child  as  you  are,  and  run  the  risk  of  making  you  love 
me  while  the  woman  of  you  —  grows !  I  will  help  it 
grow  —  God  help  me!  How  I  will  glory  in  the  task 
and  if  I  fail " 

Sandy  had  drawn  her  hands  from  his  shoulders 
and  now  held  them  fast  and  close. 

"I  will  make  you  free,  set  you  as  free  as  you  are 
to-day,  my  white  blossom  girl!  You  cannot  under 
stand;  but  God  hears  me  and  I  swear  it!" 

Cynthia  did  not  understand,  but  his  fine  passion 
flooded  her  soul  with  white  light. 

"How  wonderful  you  are,"  she  whispered.  "You 
stand  out  big  and  high  like  our  mountain " 

At  that  word  Sandy  closed  his  eyes,  for  he  dared  not 
look  upon  the  dear,  slow-smiling  lips. 

"But,  Sandy,  you  are  covered  with  —  with  mist 
like  Lost  Mountain  sometimes  is.  Let  me  find  you, 
Sandy,  not  as  you  would  help  me  find  you,  but  in  my 
own  way.  Will  you  do  this  for  —  HI'  Cyn?" 

Without  opening  his  eyes  Sandy  drew  the  clinging 
hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed  them. 

"When  you  find  me,  dear  heart,  dear  heart,  will 
you  tell  me  or  give  me  a  sign?" 

"Yes,  Sandy." 

"And  now  —  where  are  you  going,  Cynthia?" 

For  the  girl  was  turning  from  him. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  275 

"Just  down  The  Way.  I  must  watch  with  Aunt 
Ann.  She  is  a  mighty  troublesome  lil'  child  these 
days.  Good-bye. " 

They  looked  tenderly,  frankly,  in  each  other's  eyes 
and  then  the  girl  was  gone. 

And  that  night  Cynthia  sat  beside  Ann  Walden 
and  kept  watch  and  guard  while  faithful  Sally  slept. 
The  bedchamber  was  very  quiet  and  only  a  tallow 
candle  lighted  the  gloom.  The  figure  stretched  out 
upon  the  bed  was  deathlike  in  its  rigid  motionlessness, 
and  Cynthia's  hand  lay  over  the  thin,  old  wrinkled 
ones  for  fear  in  a  drowsy  moment  the  woman  might 
elude  her. 

It  was  past  midnight  when  Ann  Walden  stirred 
and  opened  her  eyes.  Cynthia  was  alert  at  once,  but 
the  light  that  shone  on  the  old  face  revealed  an  ex 
pression  which  had  not  rested  there  for  many  a  day. 

"Queenie!" 

A  cold  horror  overcame  Cynthia,  but  she  held  her 
position  and  whispered: 

"Yes." 

"Go  to  bed,  honey.     I'm  —  I'm  sorry." 

"Never  mind,  dear."  Cynthia  meant  to  play  the 
old  sad  game  that  was  the  only  one  possible  with  the 
poor  creature  on  the  bed. 

"I  reckon  it  was  -  -  Thorndyke  Bothwell  over  by 
Susie  May  Lanley's,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me,  Queenie?     Why  didn't 


276  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

you-all  trust  me.  I  —  I  didn't  mean  to  —  be 
hard." 

"No,  dear.     Never  mind.     Go  —  to  sleep  now." 

"Thorndyke  Both  well,  he  went  away  —  but  there 
must  be  —  some  one  to  remember.  The  —  letter  — 
take  it  —  to " 

Then  a  spasm  passed  over  the  grim  face  upon  the 
pillow.  The  fleeting  sanity  was  vanishing  —  "The 
hearthstone  —  her  —  down  at  Trouble " 

The  candle  flickered  up  luridly.  The  weak  voice 
of  the  old  woman  shook  and  the  eyes  lost  the  lustre. 

"You  must  bide  with  her  —  at  Trouble " 

Cynthia  could  not  understand;  she  had  never  seen 
the  light  fade  from  the  face  of  one  she  loved,  so  the 
fixed  stare,  the  cessation  of  speech,  did  not  alarm  her. 

"See,  dear  Aunt  Ann,  I  will  put  my  head  down  on 
your  pillow,  so!  There  now!  Shut  your  eyes  right 
close,  and  I'll  sing  you  to  sleep,  honey. " 

The  candle  decided  to  splutter  once  more,  and  give 
up  the  struggle.  The  long  wick  curled  over,  the  tiny 
beam  faded,  and  was  —  gone. 

Through  the  long  night  watches, 

May  Thine  angels  spread 
Their  white  wings  above  me, 

Watching  round  my  bed. 

Like  a  little  mother  crooning  over  her  frightened 
child,  Cynthia  sang  the  words  tenderly.  Marcia 
Lowe  had  taught  her  the  words  and  tune  after  her 
fright  at  the  time  of  the  fire.  It  had  been  Cynthia's 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  277 

first  evening  song;  she  had  often  quieted  her  sudden 
fears  in  the  dark  nights  by  repeating  the  tender  words: 

Through  the  long  night  watches 

and  sleeping,  surely  with  white  wings  above  them, 
Ann  Walden  and  Cynthia  lay  side  by  side  when  old 
Sally  came  to  rouse  them. 

Shocked  and  frightened,  Sally  got  Cynthia  from 
the  room  without  the  girl  realizing  the  conditions. 
Pacifying  her  by  a  promise  to  "take  her  turn"  at  the 
bedside,  she  left  the  girl  in  her  own  chamber  while 
she  ran,  panting,  stumbling  —  often  pausing  to 
rest  —  to  Trouble  Neck. 

"Ole  Miss  Ann  don'  gone  out  at  the  turning  o' 
the  tide, "  she  sobbed  to  Marcia  Lowe. 

"And  little  Cyn?" 

"Come, oh!  come,"  pleaded  Sally;  "fo*  she  cotch 


on. 
« 


And  now,"  thought  the  doctor  as  she  mounted 
her  horse  with  Sally  astride  behind,  "I'm  going  to 
bring  your  little  girl  home,  Uncle  Theodore,  and 
take  my  chance  and  your  chance  with  her!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OLD  Sally  Taber  sat  in  the  full  glow  and 
warmth  of  an  early  October  afternoon  and 
looked  about  Sandy  Morley's  kitchen.  The 
glow  came  from  the  sun  which  streamed  through  the 
broad  window;  the  warmth  emanated  from  the  stove 
which  Marcia  Lowe  had  trained  Sally  to  understand 
and  respect.  The  cooking  utensils,  too,  had  become 
tractable  objects  in  Sally's  determined  hands,  for 
with  a  perpetual  land  of  promise  and  fulfillment  in 
sight,  the  old  woman  had  rallied  her  forces  for  the 
homestretch. 

Since  the  day  when  Ann  Walden  was  laid  in  the 
family  plot  and  Cynthia  had  been  taken  to  Trouble 
Neck,  Sally  had  lived  in  Sandy  Morley's  cabin  and 
gloried  in  the  title  of  "housekeeper." 

"Three  weeks,"  muttered  Sally,  sitting  with  her 
skirts  well  drawn  up;  her  feet,  encased  in  "old  wo 
man's  comforts,"  resting  comfortably  in  the  oven  of 
the  stove. 

"Three  whole  weeks  an'  po'k  chops  every  day 
when  there  ain't  something  better." 

With  that  she  got  up,  went  to  a  corner  cupboard 
and  brought  out  her  can  of  vaseline. 

278 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  279 

"  Yo'  lyin'  ole  chile,"  she  muttered;  "yo'  can  sho' 
res'  from  yo'  labours.  This  am  a  Ian'  o'  honey  an'  the 
honeycomb. " 

Then  voluntarily  Sally  raised  the  lid  of  the  stove 
and  pushed  the  tin  can  in  upon  a  blazing  piece  of 
wood.  The  flames  caught  the  grease  and  licked  it 
greedily  from  the  outer  side  of  the  box: 

"Massa  Fire,"  laughed  Sally;  "yo'  like  dat  po'k 
chop?" 

Then  the  heat  hungrily  battled  for  more  and 
"pop"  flew  the  cork  and  back  leaped  Sally. 

"Gawd!"  she  gasped.  "I  sho'  didn't  think  yo' 
would  take  it  that-er-way.  I  was  only  foolin'!" 

Sally  had  made  great  strides.  She  could  laugh 
and  joke  with  assurance  in  her  heart.  Sandy  Mor- 
ley  had  promised  that  she  might  have  a  home  to  the 
end  of  her  days  in  Martin's  cabin  —  the  glorified 
cabin  —  and  Sally,  like  many  another,  was  learning 
to  trust  Sandy  as  no  one  had  ever  been  trusted  in 
Lost  Hollow  before.  Sally  rarely  gave  expression 
to  her  sentiments;  she  did  not  mean  to  permit  the 
child  whom  she  had  helped  Martin  bring  through  his 
"teething, "  and  whom  she  had  spanked  many  a  time, 
to  get  the  upper  hand;  but  she  prayed  by  her  very 
comfortable  bed  in  the  loft  over  the  living-room  that 
she  might  cook  to  Sandy's  liking  and  prove  herself 
worthy  the  blessing  God  bestowed  upon  her  in  her 
old  age. 

Glaring  at  the  stove  and  not  daring  to  risk  another 


280  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

outburst  of  indignation,  Sally  stood  helpless  when 
Sandy  entered  the  sunny  kitchen. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

"Dat  stove  done  have  a  real  human  sense,"  Sally 
replied;  "an  open  fire  we-all  can  reckon  with  an'  keep 
an  eye  on,  but  yo'  shet  fire  up  in  a  packin'  box  an* 
who  knows  what's  goin'  on  in  its  min'  ? " 

Sandy  laughed,  put  the  lid  in  its  place  and  sat  on 
the  table,  swinging  one  long  leg  comfortably.  He 
gloried  in  the  element  of  home  that  he  had  brought 
about  him  and  to  see  Sally  in  the  kitchen  always 
gave  him  a  distinct  thrill. 

"Make  some  gingerbread  for  supper,"  he  pleaded, 
"and  give  me  the  lickings,  Sally.  Do  you  know  I 
never  had  lickings  until  I  went  to  Massachusetts." 

"Lands!  Sandy  Morley,  I  don'  gave  you  millions 
mysef !  Yo'  pa  was  alias  fur  lettin'  yo'  off,  but  I 
lathered  yo'  mo'n  once,  chile,  an'  so  saved  yo'  fo' 
yo'  luck." 

"I  mean  'leavings'  in  the  bowl  when  the  cake's 
ready  for  the  oven.  Come  Sally,  let  me  help  you 
get  things  together.  Molasses,  spices,  milk " 

"I'll  get  the  res'.  Now,  son,  do  tackle  this  yere 
can  o'  risin'  powder.  Take  this  yere  Handy  Andy  an' 
pry  the  kiver.  Seems  like  these  new-fangled  cookin' 
yarbs  is  put  up  jes'  ter  try  the  patience  ob  de  saints. " 

Sandy  took  the  instrument,  and  utilizing  one  of  its 
many  powers,  loosened  the  cover  and  handed  the 
baking  powder  to  Sally. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  281 

"I  wonder  how  you  ever  kept  your  hand  in  at 
cooking?"  he  said  musingly  as  he  reflected  upon  the 
past.  But  Sally  was  on  guard. 

"Lor,  chile!  an'  why  not?  Ain't  I  alias  had  my 
own  po'k  and  bacon?  Ain't  I  lived  up  to  the  Great 
House  fo'  years  an'  years?" 

"Of  course.  And  Sally,  that  reminds  me.  I'm 
going  to  buy  the  Great  House  and  —  make  it  as  it 
was  before  the  war!" 

"Gawd!"  gasped  Sally. 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  tell  me  exactly  how  it  looked 
—  you  can  remember?" 

"Why,  yes,  chile!"  Sally's  hand  paused,  spoon  in 
air.  "I  can  see  it  same  as  it  was  yesterday.  That- 
er  Yankee  man  they  called  Sheridan  —  he  passed 
up  by  The  Way  an'  he  stopt  right  on  the  home-place 
o'  Stoneledge,  an'  General  Walden  he  was  there,  an* 
old  Miss,  an'  lil'  Miss  Ann  —  she  was  right  little  an' 
young  then  but  mighty  peart.  I  was  stayin'  at  the 
Great  House  then,  fo'  it  was  near  the  time  when  HI* 
Miss  Queenie  was  goin'  ter  be  born  —  her  as  died  up 
Norf  at  a  horse-pittal.  Well,  that-er- Yankee  Sheri 
dan  he  don'  say  to  General  Walden,  'We-all  is  near 
starvin'.  Jes'  like  a-that!  An'  General  Walden 
he  don'  say,  standin'  upperty  an'  mighty,  'We-all 
will  share  with  yo',  general,  bein'  war  is  war.'  Then 
what-er-yo'  think?  Lil'  Miss  Ann  she  pearked  up 
an'  says  right  to  his  face:  *Yo'  can't  have  Anna 
Isabel!'  She  never  batted  an  eye  when  she  spoke 


282  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

up,  an'  I  thought  I'd  bust.  The  Yankee  he  don'  ax 
who  Anna  Isabel  was,  an'  HP  Miss  Ann  said  right 
stiff,  *She  be  my  turkey  —  she  be  our  Christmas 
dinner.'  An'  jes'  then  Anna  Isabel  stalked  straight- 
er-way  befo'  dat  man  Sheridan  an'  HP  Miss  Ann 
pointed  an'  says  'There's  Anna  Isabel!'  Well,  we-all 
laughed  an'  I  will  say  this  for  that  Yank,  he  was 
powerful  'spectful  to  us-all.  'I'm  bleeged  to  come 
in  an'  res'  an'  have  a  meal,'  he  don'  said,  and  then 
he  went  on  with  his  pack  totin'  at  his  heels. 

"  Fo'  de  Lord,  Sandy  Morley,  shet  off  that  snortin', 
roarin'  fire  or  I'll  fetch  yo'  a  real  old-time  lick!" 

Sandy  ran  to  regulate  the  dampers,  his  face  radiant 
and  boyish.  He  was  enjoying,  as  he  never  had  en 
joyed  anything  in  his  life  before,  the  dear  home- 
atmosphere  of  his  hills. 

Sally  Taber  returned  to  her  task  with  energy  born 
of  appreciation. 

"We'll  fix  the  old  house  of  Stoneledge  up  in  great 
shape,"  Sandy  said,  coming  back  to  the  table  and 
leaning  forward  on  his  hands  to  follow  Sally's  ener 
getic  manipulation  of  the  gingerbread;  "that  ought 
to  be  something  for  the  rest  of  us  to  live  up  to. 
I'd  like  to  see  little  Miss  Cynthia  installed  there  as 
mistress!" 

"Her  ain't  of  the  Walden  blood "  Sally  re 
marked,  breathlessly  beating  the  golden  brown  batter. 
Sandy  winced.  "But  her  has  caught  the  manners. " 

"And,"   Sandy   steered   away  from   the   danger 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  283 

ground,  "we'll  have  the  Home-school.  It  must  be  a 
home  first;  a  school  afterward,  Sally.  I  want  the 
baby-things  to  have  the  'lickings'  of  cakes  and 
puddings  in  the  kitchen  —  it  is  to  be  a  great,  big, 
sunny  kitchen!  And  I  want  them  to  have  bedtime 
stories  and  soft  songs."  Sandy* s  eyes,  tender  and 
luminous,  looked  beyond  Sally  and  rested  on  the 
gentle  slope  of  Lost  Mountain.  "I  want  them  to 
have  what  every  child  has  a  right  to  and  which 
our  children  have  never  had. " 

Sally  was  thoughtfully  baling  the  light  cake  into 
the  long,  shallow  tins: 

"I  clar'  I  don't  know,"  she  muttered,  "how  Smith 
Crothers  is  goin'  to  'commodate  hisself  to  yo'!" 
Then  she  shivered  and  stood  upright,  her  nostrils 
sniffing  and  her  eyes  alert  like  a  deer  in  the  wilds. 
"I  don'  thought,"  she  murmured,  "dat  I  heard  a 
step  and  saw  a  shadder  fallin' !  Seems  like  the  wind 
is  changin',  fetchin'  chill  an'  storm!" 

Sandy,  with  the  superstition  of  The  Hollow  re 
sponding  in  his  blood,  went  to  the  window  overlook 
ing  The  Way.  Just  turning  into  the  trail  leading  up 
to  the  cabin  a  tall,  lithe  form  swung  in  sight.  Well 
dressed,  carrying  a  modern  suitcase,  and  whistling, 
gayly  came  the  stranger.  At  the  moment  of  recogni 
tion  Sandy  felt  a  cold  aloofness  overpower  him.  He 
spoke,  as  if  to  convince  a  doubting  listener:  "I  — 
I  reckon  that  is  Lans  Treadwell!  Treadwell,  of  all 
people!" 


284  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

But  Sandy  pulled  himself  together  and  went  to 
greet  his  visitor  with  characteristic  warmth  and 
cordiality.  He  believed  it  was  only  surprise  that  had 
swayed  him  earlier.  Lans,  somehow,  could  not 
easily  be  fixed  into  place  in  the  rough  hill  life. 
Lans,  always  at  his  ease  in  Boston,  seemed  oddly 
out  of  tune  in  Lost  Hollow.  But  try  as  he  might, 
Sandy  could  not  feel  like  himself,  with  Treadwell's 
cheerful  laugh  and  big-hearted,  patronizing  jollity 
resounding  through  the  cabin.  He  was  too  des 
perately  and  determinedly  bent  upon  being  "one 
of  them"  to  be  comfortable. 

"By  Jove!  Morley,"  he  exclaimed,  when  Sandy 
had  drawn  him  into  the  living  room;  "this  is  a  place. 
You've  worked  wonders  here.  I  have  always  wanted 
to  see  you  in  your  family  —  is  that  your  —  your 
mother?"  For  Sally  Taber  could  be  seen  and  heard 
through  the  half-open  door  leading  to  the  kitchen. 

"No.  My  mother  has  been  long  dead.  My 
father  will  return  by  evening  meal  time.  Come  in 
here,  Lans  —  you  see  I  have  unoccupied  quarters 
'  He  led  him  to  Levi's  apartments.  "Make 
yourself  comfortable.  I'll  start  a  fire  on  the  hearth 
in  this  bedroom  and  the  adjoining  sitting-room. " 

"Well,  I'll  be  "  —  Treadwell  glanced  about  at 
the  plain  luxury  —  "eternally  flambusted!  If  you 
are  not  a "  Then  he  laughed. 

It  was  after  the  evening  meal  which  Sally  served 
in  silent,  morose  dignity,  that  the  three  men  went  to 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  285 

Sandy's  study.  The  shed-rooms  were  attached  to  the 
main  cabin  by  a  narrow  hallway  and  this  passage 
was  dark  and  cold.  Coming  from  it  into  the  warmth 
and  glow  of  the  room  filled  with  books  and  pictures, 
Treadwell  paused  to  glance  about  and  exclaim  before 
he  took  the  easiest  chair  by  the  hearth  and  accepted 
pipe  and  tobacco.  Martin  was  ill  at  ease  and  looked 
helplessly  now  and  again  to  his  son  for  leadings  with 
this  stranger  who  laughed  so  constantly  and  regarded 
him  as  if  he  were  a  person  of  inferiority  and  lack  of 
intelligence  who  must,  nevertheless,  be  treated  with 
kindness  and  tolerance. 

"I  suppose,"  Treadwell  remarked  when  the  three 
had  finally  settled  into  some  kind  of  comfort,  "I 
suppose,  Sand,  you  wonder  how  I  found  you  out?" 

Sandy  had  wondered  but  had  restrained  his  curi 
osity.  He  looked  now  at  the  big,  handsome  fellow 
and  again  was  seized  with  the  sense  of  chill  that 
he  had  felt  in  the  afternoon. 

"  It  sounds  like  a  fairy  story  —  a  best  seller  or 
what  you  will.  By  and  by"  —  he  glanced  at 
Martin  as  though  to  suggest  a  time  when  he  would 
be  absent  —  "I've  got  a  lot  to  tell  you,  but  some 
thing  turned  turtle  in  my  affairs  and  got  on  to  my 
nerves.  Aunt  Olive  made  me  consult  Doctor  Travers, 
he's  my  uncle's  pet  aversion,  you  know,  because  he 
wanted  Aunt  Matilda  to  go  into  his  sanatorium  and 
Uncle  Levi  considered  it  an  insult.  Well,  I  saw 
Travers  and  he  advised  a  vacation.  'Get  to  the 


286  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

hills,'  he  suggested,  'and  browse  a  bit.  Why  don't 
you  go  up  to  that  place  —  a  hole  in  the  ground,' 
he  called  it,  'where  your  uncle  has  sent  —  Morley?' 
And  then  it  all  came  out,  and  by  Jove!  I  found 
out  that  you  hailed  from  the  place  of  my  fore 
fathers!" 

At  this  Martin  dropped  his  pipe  on  the  hearth  and 
fixed  his  dim  eyes  on  the  stranger's  face.  Back  rolled 
the  years  that  had  been  but  stagnant  pools  in  poor 
Martin  Morley's  life;  into  focus  came  the  simple 
hates  and  injustices  that  had  brought  him  where  he 
was. 

"Your  —  forefathers!"  he  gasped,  while  a  weird 
familiarity  and  resemblance  to  —  he  knew  not  what 
—  made  Treadwell  something  tangible  and  actual 
at  last. 

"Yes.  We  still  own  a  good  bit  of  land  over  be 
yond  the  place  called  The  Forge.  I've  been  having 
a  look  at  it.  It's  run  wild  and  rank,  but  it  might 
be  reclaimed,  I  suppose.  There  is  a  depraved  old 
squatter  on  the  place;  lives  in  an  old  smoke-house. 
He  actually  remembered  my  grandfather  and  what 
do  you  think,  Morley"' — Lans  had  turned  his 
back  upon  Martin,  whose  fixed  stare  and  rigid  pose 
disturbed  him — "the  old  codger  actually  told  me  half 
of  a  story  the  other  half  of  which  Aunt  Olive  and  I 
have  often  laughed  over.  Oddly  enough  it  is  a  new 
and  another  connecting  link  between  you  and  me. 
We're  throw-backs,  old  fellow!  Throw-backs  and 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  287 

neither  of  us  realizing  it,  but  just  naturally  coming 
together. " 

Sandy  was  looking  at  his  father.  Martin  was  pale 
and  haggard  and  his  bony  hands  clutched  his  thin 
knees  until  the  knuckles  were  strained  and  white. 

"Hertford!"  whispered  Martin;  "Hertford!" 

"Sure  thing!"  Lans  gave  a  laugh.  "See,  I'm  dis 
covered  even  in  this  disguise."  He  nodded  toward 
the  old  man  as  one  might  toward  an  imbecile  who  had 
shown  a  gleam  of  intelligence.  "Lansing  Hertford 
is  my  real  name;  named  for  a  grandfather  just  as  you 
are,  Sandy  Morley.  You  see  I've  patched  the  scraps 
together.  It  was  your  grandfather  and  mine  who 
were  good  pals  way  back  in  the  musty  ages.  Some 
one  played  a  practical  joke  on  them  and  the  friend 
ship  went  up  in  thin  air.  It's  left  for  you  and  me  to 
pick  up  the  pieces  and  —  cement  them  together.  I 
wonder  if  you  ever  heard  about  the  bottle  of  stuff 
my  grandfather  gave  your  grandfather  to  bring  home 
from  —  from  Turkey,  I  think  it  was.  Our  fore 
bears  were  globe  trotters  in  a  day  when  to  trot 
meant  to  make  history." 

"I  —  I've  heard  it,"  Sandy  muttered,  his  eyes 
still  fixed  on  his  father's  rigid  face. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  the  —  joke?" 

Joke?     No!     Was  there  a  joke?" 

"Yos.  Your  relative  stopped  in  Paris  —  he  was  a 
jolly  old  buck  according  to  reports  —  and  he  hugged 
that  everlasting  bottle  so  close  to  him  that  some 


288  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

fellows  —  sounds  beastly  frivolous  to  refer  to  those 
dignified  shades  as  fellows  —  but,  anyway,  some 
chaps  from  round  about  here  were  doing  gay  Paree 
just  then  and  they  caught  on  to  your  grandsire's 
devotion  to  that  phial;  they  called  it  his  Passion, 
his  mistress,  and  one  night  when  he  had  left  it  hidden 
in  his  room  they  found  it,  emptied  out  the  contents 
—  some  kind  of  cologne  it  was  —  and  filled  it  with 
water!  They  never  heard  the  outcome,  but  Aunt 
Olive  and  I  have  often  wondered  how  —  some  moun 
tain  girl  probably  enjoyed  her  smelling  salts,  or 
perfume,  or  whatever  it  was!" 

Sandy  could  not  move.  He  was  spellbound,  but 
Martin  struggled  to  his  feet  and  stood  towering 
over  Lans  Treadwell,  shaking  as  with  ague. 

"I  reckon  I  can  tell  you  how  it  —  turned  out," 
he  said,  while  his  poor  old  chin  quivered  as  if  the 
effort  was  almost  more  than  he  could  endure.  "It 
war  this-er-way.  He  came  home  to  The  Hollow, 
Sandy's  grandfather,  an'  he  brought  the  bottle  of  — 
water!  Oh!  my  God  —  and  them  as  opened  the 
bottle  —  found  out  and  began  —  to  whisper!  They 
all  whispered  an'  nudged  ole  Sandford  Morley  out  of 
life  an'  inter  his  grave.  They-all  hinted  that  he 
war  a  thief,  a  betrayer  of  his  friend,  but  he  war  that 
upright  and  clean  that  he  war  deaf  to  whispers  an* 
he  —  he  didn't  know  the  language  of  dirty  slurs  and 
off  looks  from  them  as  war  once  his  friends!  He 
went  to  his  grave  without  knowing  what  had  edged 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  289 

him  outer  the  respect  of  his  neighbours.  Then  the 
lie  grew  an'  grew  an'  took  the  life  an'  souls  outer 
us-all  an'  made  us  po'  whites  —  us  as  war  as  good 
an'  better  than  your  kin!" 

A  terrible  fury  was  rising  in  Martin,  and  Sandy, 
unable  to  clarify  the  situation,  paused  before  entering 
the  fray. 

"Then  Sandy  here,  he  got  his  call  an'  rose  up 
to  save  us-all.  Out  in  the  world  he  found  —  you. 
You've  come  here  —  for  what?  for  what?" 

"Father!"  At  last  Sandy  was  beside  the  old 
man.  "Father,  remember  he  is  our  guest!  He 
has  come  to  clear  —  can  you  not  see  —  he  has  cleared 
—  our  name!" 

Exultation  and  joy  flooded  Sandy;  and  his  touch  on 
his  father's  arm,  the  thrill  in  his  voice  had  power  to 
calm  the  old  man. 

"Good  God!"  Treadwell  exclaimed,  rising  and 
facing  the  two;  "is  it  out  of  such  stuff,  such  dreams, 
such  grudges,  such  shabby  jokes,  the  life  of  the  hills 
is  made?" 

"Yes."  Sandy  whispered,  "out  of  such  stuff 
we  come  —  or  remain!  You  can  never  know  what 
you  have  done  for  us,  Lans.  Father  will  realize 
it  later  —  he's  nearer  the  past  than  I  am.  For  my 
self  I  —  thank  you !  You  have,  well,  you  cannot 
understand,  but  its  like  you  had  put  a  broad,  wide 
window  in  our  lives,  letting  in  sunshine  and  sweet 
air  where  mould  and  rot  had  once  been. " 


290  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

He  stretched  his  hand  out  frankly  and  tried  to 
push  his  father  forward  to  do  the  same,  but  Martin 
turned  away,  the  tears  streaming  from  his  eyes. 
Sandy  was  looking  to  the  future;  Martin  to  the  past; 
and  Lansing  Treadwell  stood  between  the  two  with 
a  light  laugh  upon  his  lips  and  a  vague,  contemptu 
ous  wonder  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XX 


^  HEY  had  tramped  the  hills  together,  Sandy 
and  Lans.  They  had  gone  carefully  over 
the  plans  for  the  factory  and  Home-school, 
had  seen  the  growing  building  of  the  former  and 
revelled  in  the  dreams  of  the  latter. 

"It  proves  my  liking  for  you,  old  chap,"  Lans 
had  said,  "when  I  can  look  at  all  this  and  not  envy 
you.  You  see,  Uncle  Levi  wanted  to  train  me  in  the 
way  I  should  go,  but  I  got  a  twist  in  the  wrong 
direction  and  —  well!  I  never  squeal.  That's  about 
all  the  philosophy  or  religion  I  have  —  I  never 
squeal!  Live  your  life;  take  your  chances  and 
squeal  not!  Then  you  remember  I  used  to  tell  you 
that  I  was  a  big  bungling  giant?  You've  got  the 
vision  and  the  leading.  But  to  think  of  Uncle  Levi 
putting  the  reins  in  your  hands!  I  can  imagine 
him  letting  any  one  he  likes  hold  the  end  of  the 
reins  —  but  he's  leaned  back  and  is  letting  you 
drive." 

"Yes  —  but  only  because  his  big,  wise  head  and 
loving  heart  tell  him  this  is  a  safe  road  to  travel. " 

"Oh!  I  don't  know.  Who's  going  to  be  any  the 
better  for  —  all  this  ?  There's  a  lot  of  Tommyrot 

291 


292  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

about  charity.  If  I  were  going  to  splurge  I'd  do  it  in 
the  middle  of  the  stage  and  make  an  advertisement 
of  it  at  the  same  time.  It's  cheaper  and  more  sensi 
ble.  Why,  if  Uncle  Levi  would  spend  in  Boston  what 
he's  spending  up  here  —  he'd  have  the  world  talking 
about  his  mills." 

Sandy  turned  away.  He  was  thinking  of  what 
Levi  had  said  to  him  a  few  weeks  before  as  he  was 
ending  his  visit  in  Bretherton. 

"  Son" — he  was  "  son  "  to  the  old  brother  and  sister 
after  that  trip  abroad  —  "son,  go  back  to  your  hills 
and  see  in  every  ragged  boy —  Sandy  Morley!  In 
every  little  lass  —  your  sister  Molly!  Gather  them 
in,  son,  gather  them  in,  and  let  us  help  them  as  we 
helped  you  to  —  come  out  cleaner  and  better.  Work 
up  there,  son,  as  if  God  Almighty's  eye  alone  was 
upon  you.  Men  have  forgotten  the  hill  people,  but 
God  called  you  to  lead  them  out  of  bondage." 

"  It  pays  to  advertise, "  Lans  was  remarking. 

"Yes,"  Sandy  returned;  "and  Mr.  Markham  ad 
vertises  in  a  most  original  and  picturesque  way. " 

Through  all  the  walks  and  drives  round  about  The 
Hollow,  Sandy  inwardly  prayed  that  Cynthia  might 
not  materialize.  Why  he  so  strongly  desired  this 
he  could  not  tell.  He  liked  Lans;  enjoyed  his  visit 
and  companionship,  but  he  hoped  he  would  leave 
before  Cynthia  appeared.  He  grew  restless  at  times 
and  found  himself  longing  to  tell  Treadwell  that  the 
Markhams  were  coming  to  The  Hollow  for  Christmas, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  293 

and  the  rooms  occupied  by  Lans  would  be  needed. 
But  the  days  went  by  and  Cynthia  kept  from  sight. 
The  truth  was,  Sally  Taber  had  gone  to  Trouble 
Neck  and  spread  the  news  and  warning. 

"You-all  bes'  stay  away."  she  said;  "dis  yere 
Yank  be  right  triflin'  and  polite.  He  makes  us-all 
feel  like  we  war  dirt  under  his  feet.  I  clar'  I'd  like 
to  work  an  evil  charm  on  him!  Ole  Mr.  Morley  he 
don'  take  naturally  to  the  woods  an'  leaves  them 
jroung  gem'men  to  themselves.  I  keep  the  do* 
closed  'twixt  them  an'  me  —  he  makes  me  feel  like 
there  was  traps  set  fo'  my  feet. " 

"You  must  be  having  a  real  gay  time  up  there!" 
Marcia  Lowe  replied,  laughing  at  poor  old  Sally's 
indignation. 

"Well,  I'se  cookin'  mo'  an'  mo*  monstrous  every 
day.  If  that  Yank  can  stan'  what  I  have  in  store 
fo'  him  from  now  on,  I  reckon  he  don'  got  a  stummick 
like  a  beast  o'  burden." 

"Ah!  poor  Sandy,"  Cynthia  cried;  "you'll  kill 
him,  too.  I  reckon  I'll  come  up  and  bring  him  food 
at  night  and  put  it  in  his  study." 

"Not  just  yet,  little  Cyn,"  Marcia  Lowe  replied, 
putting  a  protecting  arm  about  the  girl.  "Cynthia's 
a  bit  run  down,"  she  explained  to  Sally;  "off  her 
feed  a  little.  We're  going  to  have  a  holiday.  What 
do  you  think?  —  Mr.  Greeley  is  going  to  take  us  'over 
the  hills  and  far  away'  —  about  twenty-five  miles 
away !  He's  going  over  to  make  a  will  for  an  old  man 


294  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

who  is  dying  and  he's  invited  us  to  share  his  carriage. 
Take  good  care  of  the  Morleys,  Sally,  and  let's 
hope  the  stranger  will  leave  before  we  return.  I'm 
getting  real  Southern  in  my  tastes  and  am  positively 
suspicious  of  Northerners!" 

And  it  was  a  few  nights  after  the  night  that  Tod 
Greeley,  with  Marcia  Lowe  and  Cynthia  tucked  com 
fortably  away  in  the  back  seat  of  his  carry-all, 
started  on  their  trip,  that  Lans  Treadwell  and  Sandy 
Morley  sat  before  the  fire  in  the  study  and  had  their 
talk  —  the  talk  that  illumined  the  path  on  ahead 
for  Sandy. 

"Old  fellow!"  exclaimed  Lans,  taking  the  cush 
ions  from  the  window-seat  and  tossing  them  back 
again  from  where  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room; 
"never  place  sofa  pillows  —  chuck  'em!  Only  by 
so  doing  can  you  give  that  free  and  easy  grace  that 
distinguishes  a  Frat  cosy  corner  from  a  drawing- 
room  torture  chamber." 

Every  cushion  that  Treadwell  tossed  seemed  to 
strike  with  a  thud  on  Sandy's  heart.  It  was  as  if 
Treadwell  were  hurting  little  Cyn  as  she  sat  in  her 
window-seat  with  her  dear  face  turned  toward  them. 

"Come,  sit  down,  Lans.  You  are  as  nervous  as 
a  ghost-candle." 

"Thanks!"  Treadwell  took  a  chair  across  the 
hearth  from  his  host.  "There's  a  devil  of  a  storm 
rising  out  of  doors." 

"They're  right  common  this  season  of  the  year. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  295 

About  six  or  seven  years  ago  there  was  one  up  here 
that  came  mighty  near  ending  the  existence  of  a 
good  many  —  it  did  carry  one  poor  old  darky 
woman  away." 

"That's  cheerful!  Sand,  forgive  me  if  I  seem 
brutal,  but  do  you  know  I  believe  the  cooking  up 
here  is  giving  me  indigestion.  I  wouldn't  mind  this  if 
I  didn't  hare  your  anatomy  in  mind,  too.  Those  — 
what  do  you  call  them?" 

"Ash  cakes?" 

"Yes.     They  were,  to  put  it  mildly,  damnable." 

Sandy  laughed. 

"They  were  right  ashy,"  he  admitted.  "Sally  is 
old  and  careless." 

"She'll  murder  you,  if  you  don't  look  out." 

Sandy  kicked  a  log  farther  back  on  the  hearth 
and  the  room  was  filled  with  rosy  light  and  warmth. 

"Your  father  doesn't  seem  particularly  drawn 
to  me,  Sand.  Does  he  always  retire  to  his  chamber 
as  soon  as  he  has  finished  his  —  his  evening  meal? 
Somehow  it  looks  pointed!" 

Lans  was  not  his  usual,  sunny  self.  The  rising 
storm,  his  own  thoughts,  and  the  evil  ash  cakes  were 
having  their  way  with  him. 

"I  never  question  father,  Lans.  He  is  old.  I 
want  him  to  do  exactly  as  he  chooses.  You  must 
not  take  offence." 

"Certainly  not.  Only  I  do  not  want  to  feel  I 
drive  him  away  or  deprive  you  of  his  companionship. 


296  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Ever  since  I  told  the  joke  about  that  bottle  of  per 
fumery  he  seems  to  avoid  me." 

"Father  hasn't  a  sense  of  humour,"  Sandy  ven 
tured,  striving  to  keep  the  bitterness  of  resentment 
from  his  voice. 

"The  devil!"  ejaculated  Lans.  "That  log  spits 
like  a  hag.  A  spark  fell  straight  on  my  ankle. " 

"Excuse  it,"  Sandy  murmured,  smiling  as  Lans 
nursed  his  silk-enclosed  ankle. 

"Hang  it  all,  Sand!  I've  got  to  get  back  to  civili 
zation!" 

Sandy  bent  over  the  fire  to  conceal  his  feelings. 
"Not  to-night,  surely,"  he  said. 

"No,  but  in  a  day  or  so.  Morley,  I  —  I  want  to 
tell  you  something.  Tell  you  why  I  cut  and  came 
up  here  right  in  the  middle  of  things  at  home. " 

The  storm  outside  pounded  on  the  windows;  the  fire 
flared  and  chuckled  crisply.  Sandy  thought  about 
Cynthia,  wondered  where  she  was,  and  then  he  be 
came  conscious  of  something  Treadwell  was  saying. 

"There  was  a  time,  Sand,  when  I  couldn't  have 
come  to  you  with  this.  I  thought  you  were  such  an 
infernal  puritan  —  but  Aunt  Olive  has  told  me  of 
that  —  that  little  affair  of  yours  which  ended  so  — 
well  so  happily  tragical,  and  it  has  made  you  seem 
more  human.  Of  course  there  could  have  been  no 
better  way  out  for  you  and  —  her,  and  Uncle  Levi 
was  a  brick  to  overlook  it.  I've  liked  him  better 
.for  it,  but  my  affair  is  another  matter. " 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  297 

Sandy  gazed  dumbly  at  Treadwell  and  could  not 
frame  words  to  call  the  other  to  a  halt.  Not  com 
prehending  what  Lans  knew  or  misunderstood, 
having  no  intention  of  explaining  —  he  simply 
stared  and  then  turned  to  mend  the  fire. 

"My  affair  —  is  different.  You  know  about  it  — 
partially?" 

"I've  heard  something.  It  was  none  of  my  busi 
ness."  A  sternness  crept  into  Sandy's  voice  which 
Treadwell  entirely  misunderstood. 

"Well,  because  it  was  possible  for  me  to  come  to 
you;  because  of  all  my  friends,  you  seemed  in  this 
hour  of  trouble,  the  only  one  I  could  come  to,  I  want 
you  to  make  it  your  business,  Sand." 

The  low-pitched,  pleading  voice  awoke  sympathy. 
It  was  that  tone  and  manner  which  had  caused 
people  to  straighten  out  the  snarls  of  Lans  Tread- 
well's  life  from  babyhood  up.  There  was  capitu 
lation.  It  was  as  if  he  had  said :  "  I  deserve  no  pity, 
no  comfort,  but  —  give  them  to  me!"  It  awoke  all 
the  spontaneous  desire  for  his  happiness  in  every 
tender-hearted  person  who  knew  and  liked  him. 

"I'm  not  indifferent,  Lans.  I  only  meant  that  in 
your  friendship  and  mine  there  have  always  been 
reservations.  You  took  me  up  because  of  your 
generous  friendliness;  you  helped  me  mightily.  I 
never  felt  the  slightest  inclination  to  penetrate  into 
your  private  life,  and  my  own  was  of  such  a  nature 
that  I  was  obliged  to  live  it  alone.  My  years  away 


298  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

from  the  mountains  were  years  of  preparation  to 
come  back.  Every  hand  held  out  to  me  was  but  a 
power  to  help  me  on  my  course.  I  have  never  — 
except  recently  with  the  Markhams  —  ever  taken 
anything  personally.  I  have  always  recognized 
that  I  was  called  to  serve  my  people;  I  have  been 
grateful,  but  I  have  never  appropriated." 

Treadwell  looked  hard  at  the  fine,  dark  fac? 
touched  now  to  vivid  beauty  by  the  rich  glow  of  the 
fire. 

"And  I  know  few  fellows  who  have  won  out  as  you 
have,"  he  said  admiringly.  "You  have  that  in  you, 
about  you,  that  attracts  and  compels.  People  trust 
you,  like  you  —  need  you  when  a  pinch  comes." 

"Thank  you,  Lans." 

"And  God  knows  I  want  you,  need  you,  now!" 

Sandy  put  out  his  hand,  Treadwell  gripped  it, 
then  both  leaned  back  in  their  chairs  and  the  story 
came,  set  to  the  wild  strains  of  the  mountain  storm. 

"She  was  one  of  those  little  creatures  born  to  be 
the  plaything  of  Fate.  When  she  was  seventeen 
she  married  Jack  Spaulding  —  he  was  part  genius, 
but  more  fool.  He  was  caught  by  the  girl's  spiritu 
ality  and  brightness  and  he  couldn't  any  more  com 
prehend  her  than  a  raw-boned  Indian  could  under 
stand  a  water  sprite.  To  him  she  was  a  woman  he 
wanted  —  nothing  more.  He  got  her  and  when  he 
wasn't  lost  in  the  maze  cf  invention  he  permitted 
her  —  Good  God !  —  he  permitted  her  to  supply  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  299 

needs  and  yearnings  of  the  —  the  man  in  him. 
Poor,  little  entrapped  soul!  She  struggled  between 
duty  and  loathing  until  her  Guardian  Angel  saved 
her.  When  Spaulding  was  going  through  his  ups  and 
downs  of  fortune  she  stood  by  him.  His  downs 
were  oftener  and  longer  than  his  ups  and  she  was 
pure  grit  and  a  bully  little  sport.  Then  he  got  on 
his  feet  with  a  vengeance.  He  could  give  her  any 
thing  and,  like  a  big,  blundering  savage  he  be 
gan  to  load  her  down  with  things  and  make  his 
demands  for  payment  and  she  —  up  and  left  him!" 

Sandyfelt  that  the  heat  of  the  room  was  oppressive, 
but  he  held  his  position  and  flinched  not. 

"Poor,  little  white-souled  girl!  She  left  him  and 
tackled  life  with  her  wits  and  her  two  pretty  hands. 
I  met  her  during  my  senior  year.  She  was  report 
ing  for  a  Boston  paper,  getting  starvation  wages; 
living  like  a  bird  in  two  rooms  of  a  high-pitched 
house  off  in  a  desolate  corner  of  town  and  thanking 
God  for  her  —  escape  and  freedom.  Well,  I  lost  my 
heart  to  her  and  you  know  how  I  and  my  set  feel 
about  certain  things.  Laws  are  all  right  for  the  - 
herd ;  a  present  help  for  the  helpless ;  protection  for  the 
happy,  and  all  the  rest,  but  they  should  be  handled 
wisely  and  discriminately  by  the  intelligent  minority. 
She  —  Marian  Spaulding  held  the  same  views!" 

"Why  —  didn't  she  divorce  him  —  her  husband?" 
Somehow  the  question  sounded  crude  and  unneces 
sary  on  Sandy's  lips. 


300  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"For  form's  sake,  she  tried.  Spaulding  would  not 
let  her.  He  was  an  ugly  devil  and  he  just  couldn't 
understand  any  woman  snapping  her  fingers  at  his 
big  money.  He  meant  to  starve  her  out,  but  he  — 
well,  he  got  left! 

"I  took  rooms  out  near  Cambridge.  At  first  we 
were  —  friends !  I  wanted  her  to  have  time  and 
quiet  to  think  it  out  her  own  way.  Learn  to  trust 
me;  come  to  me  of  her  own  accord  and  because  she 
was  large  enough  to  choose  the  braver  course." 

The  heat  was  stifling  Sandy,  but  he  gripped  the 
arms  of  his  chair  and  kept  still. 

"She  —  she  came  to  me  willingly  —  three  months 
ago!  I've  known  and  she  has  known,  Sand,  such 
bliss  as  only  free,  untrammeled  souls  can  know  who 
have  gone  through  hell  fire  and  proven  themselves!" 

Sandy  almost  sprang  up.  "You  won't  mind," 
he  said  jerkily,  "if  I  raise  the  window?  The  room  is 
like  a  furnace." 

When  he  came  back  to  his  place,  Lans,  head  bent 
forward  in  clasped  hands,  was  ready  for  him. 

"Women  are  all  alike  in  some  ways.  They  never 
dare  let  go  entirely  and  plunge!  They  hold  on  to 
something,  get  frightened,  and  scurry  back  to  tradi 
tion.  Three  weeks  ago  Spaulding  sent  for  her  — 
for  Marian.  He'd  lost  everything;  was  ill  and 
needed  her.  She  went!  I  found  a  note  —  that's 
all." 

"Well!"     Then  having  said  that  one  word,  Sandy 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  301 

sought  about  in  his  confused  mind  for  another. 
Again  he  said," Well!"  and  waited. 

"I  —  I  cannot  be  happy  without  her.  The  longer 
I  stay  away  the  stronger  her  claim  seems  to  me.  I 
must  go  back  and  —  try  again. " 

"Try  — what?" 

Sandy  felt  the  cool,  wet  outer  air  touch  his  face  as 
he  leaned  forward,  for  at  last  Lans  Treadwell  had 
aroused  him.  He  was  not,  however,  thinking  of 
Lans  and  his  yearnings;  he  was  thinking  of  a  little, 
unknown  woman  who  was  following  the  gleam  of  her 
conscience,  while  love,  selfish  love,  was  ready  to 
spring  upon  her  with  its  demands,  before  she  had 
wrestled  with  and  solved  her  own  problem. 

"Try  — what?" 

"To  get  her  away  from  Spaulding;  get  her  back  to 
me  and  —  happiness.  We  were  happy,  God  knows 
we  were!" 

"  If  you  —  if  she  were  happy,  then  her  going 
proved  something  stronger  than  happinesscalledher." 

"Women  are  like  that.  They  hold  the  world  back 
by  their  conventions  and  conservations.  They  ask 
for  freedom  and  —  and  equality,  and  then  they  cling 
to  tradition  in  spite  of  all." 

"I  reckon,"  Sandy's  eyes  were  troubled  and  tender, 
"I  reckon  we-all  better  keep  our  hands  off  for  a  while 
and  watch  out  to  see  them,  the  women,  solve  what 
is  their  business.  They-all  may  want  freedom  and 
the  rest  —  but  it  must  be  —  as  they  see  freedom  and 


302  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

equality,  Lans.  I'm  mighty  sure  in  every  woman's 
heart  there  is  the  beginning  of  a  path  leading  —  out 
and  up,  that  they  can  find  better  alone.  Why  don't 
you  wait  until — until  this  little" — Sandy  dropped  into 
the  sweet  "HI"  —  "this  little  woman  comes  to  you." 

"She'd  never  come!"  Lans  half  groaned;  "you  do 
not  know  how  tradition  would  hold  her  there.  She'd 
starve  rather  than  to  call  me  now. " 

Sandy  was  thoughtful  a  moment.  He  saw  that 
Treadwell  probably  was  right  there,  but  a  strange 
sense  of  protection  rose  in  his  heart.  He  felt  he  must 
protect  that  distant,  strange  woman  from  Lans  in 
his  present  mood. 

"Then  I  reckon  you  better  stand  off  and  watch 
unseen,  Lans."  Sandy  made  a  bold  stroke:  "Are 
you  thinking  of  her  only?  I'm  mighty  sure,  Tread- 
well,  in  a  case  like  this  you  ought  not,  you  —  dare 
not  think  of  any  one  but  her!" 

The  bald,  rigid  reasoning  struck  Lans  Treadwell 
like  the  cold  draught  from  the  open  window. 

"Good  God!  Sand,"  he  ejaculated,  "let  me  shut 
that  sash  down.  The  cold  gets  into  your  heart  as  if 
it  were  driven  by  some  infernal  machine. " 

Sandy  got  up  and  pulled  the  glass  down  sharply, 
but  he  could  not,  thereby,  bring  comfort  to  Lans' 
conscience. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  case  like  this,  Sand? 
No  case  between  man  and  woman  can  be  separated 
that  way.  Her  need  is  my  need;  mine  is  hers!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  303 

"Is  it?" 

"Thunder!  Sand,  of  course  it  is." 

"I  —  I  do  not  know.  Things  come  so  slowly,  but 
I'm  trying  to  learn  for  the  sake  of  my  people.  The 
women  and  children,  Lans,  have  got  a  clutch  on 
me;  they  must  always  come  first.  Even  when  we 
want  women  happy,  we  want  to  give  them  happi 
ness;  give  them  the  liberty  we  think  is  good  for  them. 
Treadwell,  I'm  mighty  sure  there  are  times  when 
we-all  better  get  out  and  leave  them  alone!  We 
only  make  matters  worse.  You  do  not  know  these 
hills  as  I  do  —  I  don't  want  to  preach,  heaven  knows ! 
As  I  talk  I  am  only  feeling  my  own  way,  not  pointing 
yours;  but  I  know  my  hill  people,  and  the  women 
and  children  tug  right  hard  at  my  heart.  When  love 
—  such  love  as  our  mountain  men  know  —  takes 
a  woman  into  a  cabin  —  it  generally  shuts  God  out! 
I  know  this,  and  the  children  that  come  into  life  by 
way  of  our  cabins  are  —  well!  I  was  a  cabin  boy, 
Lans!  Women  need  God  oftener  than  we-all  do. 
Love  puts  a  claim  on  them  that  it  never  does  on 
us-all.  Love  demands  suffering  of  them;  responsi 
bility  that  man  never  knows.  Treadwell,  we  men 
must  never  clog  up  the  trail  that  leads  woman  to  her 
God.  I  know  I'm  right  there!  But  tell  me,  are 
women  and  men  different,  so  different  in  the  lowlands 
and  highlands?" 

Treadwell  was  bent  over,  his  face  hidden  in  his 
hands.  He  made  no  answer. 


304  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"That  little  woman  —  down  there"  —  Sandy'* 
eyes  were  far  and  away  from  the  warm,  rude  comfort 
of  the  room  which  held  him  and  that  stricken  figure 
by  the  hearth  —  "is  battling  for  what  she  believes 
is  right.  Something  in  her  was  strong  enough  to  take 
her  from  you,  your  love,  and  the  safety  you  stand  for 
in  her  life.  She  has  gone  back  to  —  what  has  stood 
for  hell  in  her  past.  Do  you,  can  you,  understand 
her,  Treadwell?" 

"No!" 

"Then,  keep  away  until  God,  as  she  knows  God, 
has  had  His  way  with  her.  Stand  off  and  watch. 
Be  ready,  but  let  her  fight  her  fight  and  come  to  you, 
if  that  is  the  end  —  with  clean  soul!" 

And  now  Lans  Treadwell  was  weeping  as  only 
men  and  children  can  weep  when  they  are  defeated 
by  a  stronger  will  they  cannot  understand,  and  can 
not  resist. 

The  great  logs  crackled  and  the  wind  roared  in  the 
chimney.  Above,  the  shambling  steps  of  Martin 
Morley  sounded  as  he  made  his  preparations  for  bed. 
Suddenly  Sandy  started  up  and  listened. 

"There's  a  call  of  distress  from  The  Way,"  he 
said,  getting  upon  his  feet.  Then  he  stood  waiting 
for  the  next  sound.  Treadwell  pulled  himself  to 
gether  and  listened  also. 

No  call  came,  but  presently  steps  were  heard  out 
side  —  a  tap  on  the  door  of  the  room  which  led  di 
rectly  to  the  open. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  305 

"Come!"  said  Sandy,  and  in  walked  Marcia  Lowe 
and  Cynthia  Walden.  They  were  rain-soaked  and 
wind-blown.  Their  faces  shone  and  their  eyes 
danced. 

"This  is  the  end  of  our  holiday,"  Marcia  said  with 
a  laugh.  Neither  she  nor  Cynthia  paid  attention  to 
the  man  in  the  chair;  he  was  hardly  visible  behind 
the  high  back.  "Tod  Greeley's  shaft  broke  just  as  we 
were  coming  into  The  Way  from  the  cross  cut.  We 
called  and  called,  but  finally  we  decided  to  find  where 
we  were  —  it  is  as  black  as  a  pocket  out  of  doors  — 
we  were  all  completely  lost.  Cynthia  and  I  felt  our 
way  along,  while  Greeley  stayed  with  the  horse  —  the 
beast  acted  like  a  fiend  —  and  then  we  saw  a  light: 
your  light!  No  other  man  in  The  Hollow  wastes 
oil  like  you  —  and  here  we  are!" 

At  this  Treadwell  made  himself  evident.  Turning 
sharply,  he  met  the  big,  lovely  eyes  of  the  girl  beside 
the  talkative  little  woman.  The  fair,  damp  face  was 
inframed  by  tendrils  of  light  hair  under  a  hood  of 
dullish  red;  the  long,  coarse,  brown  coat  clung  to  the 
slim  figure,  and  the  mouth  of  the  girl  was  smiling. 
Treadwell  had  never  seen  a  mouth  smile  so  before. 

Sandy  introduced  his  friend  and  then  said:  "Lans, 
make  the  ladies  comfortable;  I'll  lend  Greeley  a 
hand." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EICE  TREAD  WELL  did  not  leave  the  moun 
tains  the  next  day.  The  storm  poured,  and 
Sandy's  words  sunk  deep  in  his  light  mind. 

"Yes,"  he  thougkt  to  himself  virtuously,  "I'll 
let  Marian  have  it  out  with  her  conscience  or  what 
ever  it  was  that  took  her  from  me.  I'll  write  and  tell 
her  I'm  waiting  up  here!" 

In  the  meanwhile  Treadwell  took  a  new  interest 
in  the  mountains,  especially  in  that  part  of  them 
known  as  Trouble  Neck.  Marcia  Lowe  and  her 
"charm"  appealed  to  him  hugely. 

"Why,  it's  been  introduced  in  many  other  places," 
he  said  to  the  little  doctor;  "why  can't  you  get  your 
representative  at  Washington  to  get  an  appropri 
ation  for  you?" 

Marcia  Lowe  laughed  long  and  merrily  at  this. 
"I  really  do  not  know  who  represents  us  at  Wash 
ington,"  she  replied;  "it  is  some  distant  man,  like 
as  not,  with  axes  galore  of  his  own  to  grind,  with 
these  mystic  votes  of  the  mountains  to  help  along. 
Doubtless  he  has  a  soul  above  names,  and  if  a  petti 
coat  doctor  should  go  to  him  and  plead  her  cause  for 
these  people  he  would  probably  have  me  shut  up  as 

306 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  307 

a  maniac.  The  Forge  doctor  is  making  himself  very 
unpleasant.  He  told  me  the  other  day  that  if  I  per 
sisted  in  working  my  charm  on  many  more  people  he 
would  have  me  —  investigated !  Just  fancy!  investi 
gating  me!  He  used  to  laugh  at  me;  it's  got  past  the 
laughing  stage  now.  When  professional  people 
step  on  each  other's  toes  the  atmosphere  is  apt  to 
be  electric.  The  Forge  doctor  has  at  last  concluded 
that  I  am  not  a  joke.  A  woman,  to  that  sort  of 
man,  is  either  a  joke  or  a  menace." 

Treadwell  laughed  gayly.  Marcia  Lowe  was  a 
delight  to  him;  besides,  Cynthia  Walden  was  always 
present  when  he  visited  Trouble  Neck,  and  Cynthia 
was  bewitching.  Treadwell  did  not  talk  of  the  girl 
to  Sandy.  He  had  no  special  reason  for  not  doing 
so,  but,  having  posed  as  a  tragic  creature  —  a  man 
confronting  a  great  soul-problem  —  he  did  not  like 
to  come  down  from  his  pedestal  and  stand  revealed 
as  a  human  being  interested  in  a  mountain  girl. 

"Her  smile,"  he  said  to  Marcia  Lowe  one  day 
when  Cynthia  had  left  the  room  for  a  moment  — 
"how  do  you  account  for  that?" 

"I  never  account  for  Cynthia,"  the  little  doctor 
replied.  "I  just  take  her  and  thank  God.  She 
and  1  live  our  beautiful  little  life  with  mists  all  about 
us.  It's  very  fascinating  and  inspiring.  She  is 
such  a  child,  and  until  there  is  some  call  to  do  other 
wise,  I  am  going  to  play  with  her.  We  actually  have 
dolls!  Of  course  there  are  all  sorts  of  bones  in  the 


3o8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

cupboard  to  pass  out  to  the  darling,  but  I'm  waiting 
until  she  is  hungry." 

And  so  Cynthia  played  her  part  and  smiled  and 
dreamed.  Things  just  were!  There  was  no  per 
spective,  no  contrast  —  the  sun  was  always  flooding 
her  hours  with  the  one  small,  white  cloud  of  Sandy's 
marked  passage  in  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  to  sail 
across  her  sky  now  and  then.  Treadwell  did  not 
surprise  or  shock  her.  He  seemed  a  big,  splendid 
happening  from  the  world  beyond  the  mountains. 
He  was  strong  and  pleasant  and  made  one  laugh,  but 
he  would  go  presently  and  they  would  talk  about  him 
as  they  talked  about  Sheridan's  raid  and  Smith 
Crothers'  fire  —  he  was  not  part  of  Lost  Mountain ! 

Cynthia,  nevertheless,  walked  with  Lans  Tread- 
well  through  the  trails,  and  once  they  had  followed 
the  Branch  and  come  upon  the  new  factory  near  The 
Forge.  The  girl  told  Treadwell  of  the  fire,  but  she 
eliminated  herself  utterly  from  the  story.  She 
understood  better  now  than  she  once  had  —  her  part 
in  that  snowy  night.  Then  they  spoke  of  Sandy  and 
his  hopes. 

It  was  a  gray,  still  day  when  they  so  freely  dis 
cussed  Sandy,  and  they  were  strolling  up  from 
Trouble  Neck  to  the  Morley  cabin;  Miss  Lowe  and 
Sandy  were  to  meet  them  there  later,  coming  from 
an  opposite  direction. 

"Yes,  Sandy  is  right  noble,"  Cynthia  said  softly; 
Mhe  was  born,  I  reckon,  to  do  a  mighty  big  thing. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  309 

When  he  was  little  it  seemed  like  God  said,  'Sandy 
Morley,  I  choose  you!'  There  never  was  any  one 
like  Sandy." 

Treadwell  scanned  the  face  near  him,  but  saw  only 
admiration  and  pride,  detached  and  pure. 

"We-all  just  waited  like  we  were  holding  our 
breaths  till  he  came  marching  up  The  Way.  I  can 
laugh  now,  Mr.  Lans,  but  the  morning  I  saw  him 
first  I  was  standing  right  there"  -she  pointed  to 
the  tree  by  the  road  where  she  had  listened  to  Sandy's 
bird  call  —  "and  he  came  along,  and  when  I  knew 
that  that  big  man  was  —  my  Sandy  that  went  all 
raggedy  down  The  Way  years  before  —  I  expect  I 
hated  him!  It  seemed  like  he  had  stolen  the  nice 
boy,  eaten  him  up  and  swallowed  him!  But  no  one 
hates  Sandy.  We-all  want  to  do  something  big  and 
fine.  Why,  every  time  I  look  at  him,  Mr.  Lans,  I 
feel  like  I  must  show  him  how  glad  I  am  he  —  well, 
he  didn't  swallow  the  old  Sandy  whole!" 

Treadwell  laughed  delightedly. 

"He's  mighty  good  to  get  near  to  when  you  feel  — 
troubled,"  Cynthia  added;  "and,  too,  you  feel  like 
you  wanted  to  keep  him  from  hurting  himself!" 

"How  well  you  put  it!"  Treadwell's  face  grew 
serious.  He  recalled  his  hour  of  confession  in  Sandy's 
study  and  felt  an  honest  glow  of  appreciation. 

"When  I  was  a  right  little  girl,"  Cynthia  went  on, 
"I  lived  up  at  Stoneledge  with  Aunt  Ann;  she  was 
my  real  aunt.  I  had  a  mighty  queer  \ice  for  a  little 


3io  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

girl  and  I  reckon  I  would  have  fared  mighty  bad  if 
I  hadn't  had  a  secret  life!" 

"You  bad  child!"  Treadwell  cried,  shaking  his 
finger  at  her;  "a  double  life,  eh?" 

"  Yes."  The  sweet  smile  gave  Lans  a  bad  moment. 
"Yes.  In  that-er-life  I  had  all  the  things  I  wanted; 
all  the  folks  I  liked,  and  it  just  kept  me  —  going! 
Sometimes  I  wish,  oh!  how  I  wish,  that  Sandy  had  a 
nice  little  other  life,  free  of  work  and  worry  and 
loneliness,  where  he  could  —  let  go!  Sandy  does 
hold  on  so!" 

"I  wish  I  could  have  been  in  your  'other  life'," 
Lans  whispered. 

"Oh!  real  folks  never  got  there!" 

"Well,  if  it  will  comfort  you  any,"  Treadwell 
broke  in  with  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  being  an  off- 
mountaineer,  "  Sandy  has  —  another  life. " 

"Really?"  Cynthia  flushed  and  curiosity  swayed 
her.  She  had  never  had  so  good  an  opportunity  to 
know  the  man  Sandy;  she  might  never  have  again. 
"Really?  and  folks,  right  magic  folks  to  —  to  play 
with?" 

Treadwell  thought  of  the  Markhams  and  grinned; 
then  he  thought  of  Sandy's  secret  relations  with  the 
girl  his  aunt  had  told  him  of  and  he  grew  imaginative. 

"Yes.  Now  there  is  a  man  in  Sandy's  other 
world,  a  grim,  rather  stern  man,  but  he  has  a  magic 
wand  that  he  lets  Sandy  wave  now  and  then  —  it's 
great  fun!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  311 

"Oh!  you  mean  the  Company?" 

"Exactly.  That's  his  pet  name.  And  there  is  a 
nice  old  fairy  godmother  who  brews  wonderful 
mixtures  for  Sandy  and  darns  his  socks  and  makes 
believe,  when  no  one  is  listening,  that  she  is  his 
mother. " 

"I  should  love  her,  the  honey!" 

Treadwell  stopped  and  gave  a  big,  hearty  laugh. 
Matilda  Markham  as  a  "honey"  was  about  the  most 
comical  thing  he  had  ever  dreamed  of. 

"And  is  there"  —  the  drawling  sweetness  of 
Cynthia's  voice  was  moving  Treadwell  dangerously 
—  "is  there  something  young  and  pretty  and  mighty 
bright,  too?" 

"Yes."    Treadwell's  laugh  was  gone. 

"A  — girl  — I   reckon?" 

"Yes,  a  girl  —  just  girl  enough,  you  know,  to 
keep  him  —  like  —  well  —  like  other  fellows. " 

"Oh!"  Cynthia  smiled,  but  her  eyes  grew  as  gray 
as  the  day;  the  blue  faded  from  them.  "  I  hope  she  is 
a  mighty  nice,  upperty  girl. " 

"I'm  only  playing,  you  know,"  Lans  broke  in. 
"I  am  imagining  a  life  for  Sandy  something  like  your 
old  secret  life.  It's  all  fun." 

"You  mean  —  Sandy  has  an  —  an  imagination?" 

"Precisely." 

But  the  "girl"  part  of  the  make-believe  remained 
in  Cynthia's  memory.  Sandy  had  had  his  pretty 
story  down  there,  away  from  Lost  Hollow !  Now  he 


312  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

had  come  back;  had  left  it  all  behind  him!  She  saw 
it  quite  clearly.  Perhaps  when  he  was  on  that  recent 
visit  he  had  looked  upon  all  the  dear  playthings  as 
she  used  to  look  at  her  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  the  por 
traits  on  the  walls  of  the  Interpreter's  House,  and 
her  letters  to  her  soul.  Perhaps  Sandy  had  played 
with  the  wand  of  the  grim  old  Company;  had  tasted 
the  brews  of  the  dear  Fairy  Godmother  and  he  had 
-  bidden  good-bye  to  the  pretty  girl-thing!  It  was 
very  plain  now;  Sandy  had  accepted  his  life  of  duty 
in  the  hills,  he  had  shut  the  door  between  him  and 
his  playroom. 

Just  then  Smith  Crothers  crossed  The  Way,  lifting 
his  hat  as  he  did  so,  to  Cynthia.  So  silently  had  he 
come,  so  suddenly  had  he  materialized,  that  Cynthia 
was  taken  off  her  guard.  Her  hand  went  to  her  side 
—  but  the  pistol  was  not  there!  In  her  safer,  saner 
life  she  often  forgot  the  dangerous  thing.  A  shudder 
ran  through  her  body  and  she  drew  nearer  Treadwell. 
The  soft, gray  day  grew  dark,  and  Crothers,  like  some 
thing  evil,  seemed  to  pervade  everything.  Instinc 
tively  Lans  put  his  hand  out  and  laid  it  protectingly 
on  the  shoulder  beside  him.  The  touch  shared  the 
taint,  too. 

"Oh!  do  not  do  that,"  pleaded  Cynthia  recoiling. 
"I  was  only  startled  because  —  he  —  the  man  came 
so  suddenly." 

"But  I  —  I  only  wanted  you  to  know  you  have  — 
nothing  to  fear  with  me  here. " 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  313 

Cynthia  made  an  effort  to  smile,  but  it  was  a  sad, 
little  shadowy  wraith  of  a  smile. 

The  touch,  the  resentment,  began  their  work  from 
that  moment.  As  Cynthia's  shudder  at  Crothers* 
touch  in  the  past  had  fanned  the  evil  passions  of  the 
man,  so  her  recoil  now  drew  Treadwell's  attention  to 
the  fact  that  she  was  not  a  child  —  but  a  woman;  a 
woman  who  recognized  him  as  man!  The  thought 
thrilled  and  interested  him.  It  made  him  forget 
to  write  that  letter  to  Marian  Spaulding;  it  made 
him  conscious  that  he  did  not  care  to  talk  about 
his  many  visits  to  Trouble  Neck  with  Sandy 
Morley. 

And  Sandy,  during  the  days  of  the  prolonged 
visit,  was  often  absent  from  home.  The  factory 
and  the  Home-school  claimed  his  care  and  presence. 
He  feared,  at  first,  that  Treadwell  would  have  a 
dreary  time  by  himself,  but  there  were  books,  and 
Lans  repeatedly  told  him  the  rest  and  quiet  were 
doing  him  a  world  of  good.  Then  —  and  the  desire 
confused  Sandy  —  he  wished  Treadwell  would  cut 
his  visit  short.  The  confession  in  the  study  had  not 
drawn  Treadwell  nearer;  it  had  driven  him  farther 
away.  It  was  as  if,  by  keener  insight,  Sandy  had 
been  cruelly  disillusioned;  had  discovered  that  he, 
not  Lans,  was  bound  to  bear  a  new  burden  of  re 
sponsibility.  Having  coniided  in  his  friend,  Tread- 
well,  apparently,  was  eased  and  comforted;  while 
Sandy  was  constantly  thinking  of  a  certain,  vague, 


3H  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

little  suffering  creature  who,  by  a  word  of  his,  was 
left  to  a  hard  fight  with  no  help  at  hand. 

"Why  in  thunder!"  Sandy  thought  as  he  and 
Martin  worked  with  the  men  over  at  the  factory; 
"why  in  thunder  doesn't  he  go  home  and  —  stand 
by?" 

But  Lans  did  not  go  away,  and  more  than  Sandy 
grew  restive.  Martin  had  taken  a  deep  dislike  to  the 
visitor  and  was  only  held  in  check  by  Sandy's  reason 
ing  and  demands. 

"Why,  Dad,  Lans  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  old 
misunderstanding.  He  has  really  done  us  a  good 
turn  by  throwing  light  on  the  past. " 

"He  —  he  laughed  I"  muttered  Martin.  "They- 
all  laugh  that-er-way.  Big  things  is  little  to  them- 
all;  and  little  things  is  —  big!  Them  Hertfords  be 
—  no-count!  They  all  sound  upperty  and  look  up- 
perty,  but  they-all  is  —  trash!" 

"  Come,  come,  Dad !  Lans  isn't  trash.  He's  done 
me  more  than  one  good  turn. " 

"I  reckon  he'll  do  you  a  right  smart  bad  one  some 
day,  son." 

"Dad!" 

"Yes,  son.  Now,  why  didn't  the  old  general 
come  an'  tell  us-all  'bout  the  joke?  Why  didn't  he 
give  us-all  a  chance  to  jine  in  the  laugh?  Then  this 
lad's  father  —  why  didn't  he  come  back  to  Lost 
Hollow  and  find  out  'bout — Queenie  Walden,  as 
was?" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  315 

Martin's  voice  sank  into  a  whisper,  but  the  words 
had  a  terrific  effect  upon  Sandy.  So  naturally  had 
he  accepted  the  life  of  The  Hollow  again,  so  happily 
had  he  permitted  his  hills  to  draw  close  about  him, 
shutting  away  the  noises  and  interpretations  of  the 
big  outer  world,  that  the  old  doubt  about  Cynthia's 
poor  mother,  the  loyal  outward  holding  to  the  story 
Ann  Walden  had  told  of  her  birth,  had  escaped  him. 
Now  it  came  thundering  through  Martin's  whisper 
like  a  heavy  blow. 

If  that  hushed  belief  were  true,  then  —  Sandy 
could  not  stand;  he  sat  down  upon  a  fallen  tree  and 
stared  at  his  father. 

"If  that  is  true,  then  Cynthia  and  Treadwell  are 

"  The  thought  burned  itself  into  the  mind  and 

soul  of  Sandy  Morley.  No  longer  could  he  permit 
things  to  drift  past  him;  here,  among  his  hills,  vital 
truths  were  vital  truths  and  might  make  or  mar  the 
people  he  was  bent  upon  helping. 

"  Cold  cramp  yo',  son  ? "     Martin  gazed  at  his  boy. 

" For  a  minute  —  yes,  Dad. " 

From  that  day  Sandy  knew  that  Treadwell  must 
go  away.  Just  how  to  bring  it  about  he  did  not  know, 
for  his  shadowy  doubt  could  not  be  voiced;  there  was 
not  the  least  reason  why  it  should  be  —  but  Cynthia 
must  be  kept  from  the  intangible  something  that 
could  never  touch  her  but  to  bring  dishonour.  And 
after  Lans  departed,  Sandy  thought,  he  would  try 
to  know  more  of  the  hideous  uncertainty;  seek  to  find 


316  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

out  what  ground  there  was  for  the  doubt.  In  re 
building  Stoneledge,  he  must  do  more  —  he  must 
try  to  take  the  blight  from  the  old  name.  "But  sup 
pose" —  and  at  that  Sandy  raised  his  head  — 
"more  glory  in  the  end  and  more  need  to  win  Cynthia 
to  him!" 

While  Sandy  was  struggling  to  work  his  way  out 
of  the  snare,  struggling  to  discover  some  social  plank 
down  which  Treadwell  could  be  courteously  slid 
from  Lost  Mountain  to  Boston  without  damage  to 
his  dignity  or  the  Morley  sense  of  hospitality, 
Smith  Crothers  got  his  inspiration. 

Filled  with  hate  and  envy,  appreciating  the  fact 
that  Sandy's  business  enterprises  were  menaces  to 
his  future  prosperity,  the  man  silently  and  morosely 
plotted  and  planned  some  kind,  any  kind  of  revenge. 
Cynthia,  he  dared  not  approach  personally;  even  his 
evil  thoughts  dared  not  rest  upon  her  directly. 
He  had  nothing  with  which  to  lure  her;  not  even  a 
decent  approach  could  be  made.  The  girl  was  al 
ways  on  guard;  he  could  make  no  apology;  he  could 
hope  from  no  self-abasement  to  win  her  faith.  To 
harm  her  brutishly  would  be  to  secure  his  own  death, 
for  well  he  knew  that  the  subtle  force  that  was  com 
ing  into  life  in  The  Hollow  was  making  the  men 
remember  they  were  men  and  the  women  to  realize 
it  also.  Then,  too,  the  factory  back  of  The  Hollow 
would  be  running  in  a  year's  time.  It  would  put  on 
the  market  a  different  line  of  merchandise  than  his, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  3*7 

but  it  would  draw  its  labour  from  the  same  sources 
from  which  he  drew. 

"That  damned  yellow  cur,"  Crothers  thought, 
"will  put  up  prices;  shut  down  on  the  brats,  and 
backed  by  the  money  of  a  fool  who  thinks  to  get  a  big 
name  this-er-way,  will  get  me  by  the  throat  if  I  don't 
get  him  first. " 

Vaguely  >  stupidly,  Crothers  desired  to  get  Sandy 
away  from  The  Hollow.  If  only  he  could  cause  him 
to  lose  interest,  give  up  the  job  and  turn  the  Com 
pany  up  North  sick  of  the  venture,  all  might  be 
well.  Crothers  had  even  fancied  the  good  effect  of  a 
plague  in  The  Hollow  that  would  wipe  out  the  labour 
ing  class;  of  course,  that  would  cripple  him,  but  he'd 
have  the  ground  to  himself  and  he  could  make  up 
for  that.  However,  at  the  plague  suggestion  Marcia 
Lowe  rose  grimly  with  warning  gesture.  The  little 
doctor  was  undermining  several  things.  She  was 
teaching  the  women  to  live  decently,  cook  decently, 
and  take  a  human  interest  in  their  children.  Her 
charm,  too,  was  having  effect;  more  than  Martin 
Morley  had  tested  its  potency  and  taken  to  holier 
ways.  The  Forge  doctor  often  told  Crothers  that 
the  She-Saw-Bones  ought  to  be  behind  bars,  but 
even  in  Lost  Hollow  you  couldn't  put  a  person 
behind  bars  for  cleaning  souls  and  homes. 

And  then,  at  that  juncture,  Crothers  came  upon 
Treadwell  and  Cynthia.  He  saw  the  girl's  shudder 
and  her  look  at  her  companion,  and  he  understood 


3i8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

the  shudder  but  misunderstood  the  look!  Lansing 
Treadwell  had  not  cared  to  cover  his  true  identity; 
rather  boastfully  he  had  proclaimed  himself  a 
Hertford  and  meant,  some  day,  to  reclaim  his 
family  lands  and  bring  back  the  glory  of  the  past. 
But  Lost  Hollow  had  its  private  opinion  of  the 
Hertfords,  and  when  the  County  Club  had  been  per 
mitted  to  share  the  joke  about  that  old  story  which 
had  damned  the  Morleys,  the  club  refused  to  laugh. 
Oddly  enough  they  took  sides  with  Martin  Morley, 
and  in  their  late  understanding  of  facts  made  flat 
tering  overtures  to  Martin  that  embarrassed  him 
deeply. 

"Morley,"  Tod  Greeley  urged,  "you-cum  down 
to  the  club  and  set  in  Townley's  armchair.  Andrew 
Townley  ain't  ever  going  to  sit  anywhere  again,  I 
reckon;  he's  flat  on  his  back  for  keeps  now.  His 
chair  is  mighty  empty-looking  and  there  ain't  a  man 
round  the  store  but  would  welcome  you  to  that  seat 
of  honour. " 

With  no  idea  of  resentment  Martin  replied: 
"You're  mighty  kind,  Greeley,  and  time  was  when 
I'd  like  to  have  jined  you-all,  but  now  Sandy  and  me 
is  right  companionable  and  —  him  not  being  a  smo- 
kin'  man,  I'd  be  mighty  lonesome  in  the  circle,  and 
Sandy  would  miss  me  to  home. " 

"And  serves  us-all  right,  too, "  Greeley  said  to  the 
club.  "Us-all  pitting  a  Hertford  agin  a  Morley!" 

So   the   situation   was   ripe   for   Crothers   to   use 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  319 

Cynthia  and  the  doubtful  Hertford  against  Morley, 
and,  incidentally,  the  Company  against  Morley. 

"  Sandy  Morley  would  like  to  get  the  girl, "  Croth- 
ers  reasoned  primitively;  "and  if  this-er-Treadwell 
or  Hertford  can  smirch  her  —  it  will  finish  Sandy; 
take  his  appetite  for  The  Hollow  away  and  —  clean 
up  the  whole  business  —  getting  me  even  for  past 
hurts,  too  —  damn  her!" 

Like  many  another  blindly  passionate  man, 
Crothers  hit  out  in  the  dark  with  what  weapons  he 
had  and  landed  a  blow  where  he  least  expected,  the 
recoil  of  which  stunned  and  downed  him. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CROTHERS  was  a  man  who  approached  his 
ends  by  the  use  of  his  better  qualities.  The 
man  whom  the  children  of  the  factory  shrank 
before  in  trembling  fear,  the  man  whom  the  men 
fawned  before,  and  the  women  loathed  and  hated  in 
dumb  acquiescence,  was  not  the  man  who  years  ago 
crept  around  the  desk  in  his  office  to  implore  a  kiss 
from  "little  Miss."  Crothers  could  smile  and 
speak  courteously;  his  hard  eyes  could  soften  and 
attract,  and  there  was  no  doubt  as  to  his  business 
capacity  and  positive  genius  in  bargaining. 

With  a  more  or  less  clear  idea  as  to  the  outcome 
of  his  desires,  Crothers  was  perfectly  explicit  as  to 
his  desires.  He  wanted  to  get  Sandy  Morley  away, 
permanently  away,  from  Lost  Hollow.  Could  he 
achieve  this,  his  business  might  prosper  as  in  old  days, 
his  command  of  the  community  gain  power  and  his 
future  be  secure.  If  he  could  bring  this  desired 
consummation  to  pass,  by  harming  Sandy  and,  inci 
dentally,  Cynthia  Walden  and  Marcia  Lowe,  so  much 
the  better.  They  were  disturbing  elements  in  the 
place  and  nothing  was  secure,  not  even  the  suppres 
sion  of  the  women  and  the  degeneracy  of  the  men. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  321 

"In  the  family  and  the  town,"  Crothers  had  said 
once  to  Tod  Greeley,  "there  must  always  be  a  head;  a 
final  voice,  or  there  will  be  hell. " 

"Who  do  you  want  to  boss  your  family  and 
town  ? "  Greeley  had  innocently  asked.  Crothers  had 
not  committed  himself;  he  believed  actions  should 
speak  louder  than  words! 

Seeking  about  for  a  beginning  of  his  campaign  to 
turn  Sandy  Morley  from  his  course,  Crothers  landed 
upon  Lans  Treadwell. 

Treadwell  could  not  always  be  at  Trouble  Neck 
while  Sandy  and  Martin  were  at  the  factory-building 
back  in  the  woods;  reading  palled  upon  Lans,  too, 
and  the  bad  cooking  for  his  private  meals  began  to 
attract  his  attention.  That  he  did  not  resent  any 
thing  in  his  friend's  home  and  make  his  farewell  bow 
was  characteristic  of  Lansing  Treadwell.  He  was 
thoroughly  good-natured,  inordinately  selfish,  and 
was  consumed  by  deep-rooted  conviction  that  Sandy 
Morley  owed  him  a  great  deal  and  that  he  was  con 
ferring  a  mighty  honour  upon  the  young  man  by 
accepting  his  hospitality.  No  doubt  arose  as  to  his 
right  in  sharing  Sandy's  home,  but  as  time  went  on 
he  did,  as  all  weak  and  vacillating  natures  do,  resent 
young  Morley's  strength  of  character,  simplicity  and 
capacity  for  winning  to  himself  that  which  Lans 
felt  belonged  to  him  by  inherent  justice.  It  had  been 
one  thing  to  know  that  his  Uncle  Lev'  Markham  had 
taken  another  young  man  and  set  him  on  his  feet, 


322  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

but  quite  another  to  realize  that  his  uncle  had 
adopted  a  poor  white  from  the  native  hills  of  the 
Hertfords  and  was  providing  him  with  wings.  A 
new  element  had  entered  into  Lans. 

"It's  like  Uncle  Levi, "  he  bitterly  thought,  with 
his  Aunt  Olive's  instructions  well  in  mind,  "to 
so  degrade  me,  my  father,  and  our  family.  If  he 
could  put  every  upstart  on  a  throne  who  had  hewed 
his  way  to  the  throne,  he  would  be  supremely  happy." 

In  these  frames  of  mind  Crothers  and  Treadwell 
met  and  exchanged  views.  If  Morley  could  put  a 
factory  up  and  hope  for  success,  Lans  wanted  to  see 
the  workings  of  a  similar  business  already  on  the 
ground.  So,  during  listless  hours,  the  young  man 
frequented  Crothers'  neighbourhood,  ate  at  Crothers' 
boarding-house,  and  drank  with  him  at  The  Forge 
hotel.  Not  looking  for  any  shortcomings,  Lans  did 
not  observe  them.  He  found  Crothers  an  agreeable 
man  with  a  desire  to  uplift  The  Hollow  by  practical, 
legitimate  methods,  not  fool-flights  of  fancy.  Then, 
too,  Crothers  had  a  fine  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things. 
He  deplored  the  fact  that  a  man  of  Sandy  Morley's 
antecedents  should,  by  the  vulgar  power  of  money, 
gain  control  over  the  people. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,"  Crothers  exclaimed,  "the  South 
has  got  to  be  reclaimed  through  blood;  not  mongrel 
blood  backed  by  dirty  money ! " 

This  sounded  very  fine  to  Lans  Treadwell. 

"Now,  I  was  a  thinking  this-er-way  Lately:     'Spose 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  323 

young  Hertford  came  and  took  command  'stead  of 
young  Morley?  'Spose  the  old  place  of  the  Hert- 
fords  was  rebuilt  and  the  family  established  here 
again  —  what  would  happen,  sir?  I  put  it  to  you 
right  plain  and  friendly. " 

Lans  was  thrilled.  He  rose  to  any  vision  called 
up  by  another;  as  for  himself  he  was  no  vision-builder. 
His  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  flashed. 

"I  have  never  thought  of  it  that  way,"  he  said; 
"as  you  put  it,  it  seems  almost  an  imperative  duty 
that  the  best  Southern  blood  should  return  to  the 
hills  and  reconstruct  where  and  in  the  manner  it 
alone  understands." 

"Exactly.  Now  I  reckon  you  don't  know,  sir,  but 
there  are  mighty  big  back  taxes  unpaid  on  the  Wai- 
den  place  and  —  and  your  forefathers'  land,  sir. 
I'm  thinking  of  buying  both  places  in  simply  from  a 
sense  of  public  spirit.  I  ain't  going  to  let  those 
smiling  acres  go  into  alien  hands  if  I  know  myself  — 
not  if  I  ruin  myself  in  the  deal. " 

"Few  men  would  show  such  spirit  as  that,  Mr. 
Crothers!" 

Lans  was  deeply  impressed. 

"Well,  sir,  a  man  as  has  the  right  stuff  in  him 
gets  sentimental  about  something.  My  weakness  is 
my  —  South!  I  came  from  mighty  good  stock,  sir. 
I  was  in  the  university  when  the  war  broke  out;  I 
left  and  did  my  share  of  fighting  and  then  came  back 
to  —  well!"  Crothers' eyes  grew  misty.  His  feel- 


324  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

ings  almost  overcame  him  and  Lans  Treadwell  was 
equally  moved. 

"Since  then  it  has  been  an  upward  climb.  I  gave 
up  love,  home,  and  marriage.  I've  become  a  coarse 
man  in  the  fight,  but  my  heart  is  true  to  the  ideals  and 
principles  of  the  South.  I  have  dreams,  too,  of  the 
day  when  the  best  blood  —  blood  such  as  yours,  sir, 
recognizes  the  need  of  the  hills  and  comes  back  with 
its  tradition  and  force  to  —  to  —  reclaim  us-all 
socially,  religiously,  and  —  and  —  morally.  It  will 
mean  sacrifice,  sir.  The  North,  with  its  luxury  and 
ease,  will  be  hard  to  leave,  but  life  is  sacrifice  to  men, 
sir,  and  the  day  will  dawn  when  the  Hertfords  will 
come  to  The  Hollow  with  determination  to  control 
affairs.  Fm  going  to  hold  their  place  ready,  sir,  for 
that  day!"  This  sounded  almost  too  fine  to  be  true, 
and  even  Lans  demanded  details. 

Then  it  was  that  Crothers  laid  his  foundations. 
He  would  buy  the  Hertford  plantation;  the  Walden, 
also,  if  he  could.  He  suspected  that  back  taxes 
could  not  be  met  by  the  legitimate  owners  —  if  they 
could  be  disentangled  from  the  mists  that  surrounded 
their  possessions  —  he  meant  to  get  them  into  his  own 
power.  Then  it  further  appeared  that  should  Lans 
Treadwell  desire  to  return  to  the  hills  of  his  fathers, 
the  way  would  be  made  easy,  and  with  Crothers  to 
back  the  efforts  of  the  "blue  blood"  a  very  respecta 
ble  opposition  would  evolve  to  check  the  growing 
strength  of  such  men  as  Sandy  Morley. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  325 

"Morley's  all  right  as  far  as  he  goes,"  Crothers 
interjected;  "I  ain't  got  nothing  to  say  against  Mor- 
ley  as  Morley,  but  what  I  do  say  is  —  does  the  South 
want  to  be  led  out  of  darkness  by  a  poor  white  when 
its  own  blue  blood  only  needs  a  chance  to  flow 
through?" 

Lans  looked  serious.  He  felt  disloyal  to  Sandy; 
old  associations  tugged  at  his  heart;  but  all  at  once 
the  story  of  Sandy's  relations  with  a  girl  in  Boston, 
the  story  coloured  and  underlined  by  Olive  Treadwell, 
rose  and  confronted  him.  If  Sandy  could  deceive 
and  hoodwink  Levi  Markham,  what  could  others 
expect?  Personally,  Lans  had  no  desire  to  stone 
Sandy,  but  a  fine  glow  was  filling  his  heart.  If  the 
way  could  be  opened  for  him  to  help  his  people,  could 
he  not  achieve  as  much  as  Sandy:  defeat  his  uncle's 
revenge  —  it  seemed  only  that  to  Lans,  then  —  and, 
perhaps,  when  Sandy  had  come  to  terms,  work  with 
him  for  the  good  of  Lost  Hollow? 

It  was  splendid!  Purpose  and  strength  came  to 
Treadwell.  He  was  ready  for  sacrifice;  ready  to 
forego  the  ease  and  joy  of  his  city  life;  ready  to 
renounce  his  claims  upon  a  certain  little  woman 
fighting  her  battle  apart  from  him !  He  would  show 
Morley  that  he  could  be  pure  and  resourceful,  he 
could  put  his  longings  aside  for  the  greater  good! 

Lans  must  always  have  his  mental,  spiritual,  and 
physical  food  served  on  dainty  dishes!  While  he 
stood  by  Crothers  he  saw,  in  fancy,  a  noble  home 


326  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

arise  above  the  trees  on  the  old  Hertford  place.  He 
saw  his  Aunt  Olive  —  no!  it  was  not  his  Aunt  Olive 
that  he  saw;  it  was  —  Treadwell's  breath  came  fast — 
it  was  Cynthia  Walden  who  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
uprisen  house  of  the  Hertfords  and  smiled  her  radiant 
smile  of  welcome  to  him! 

Lansing  Treadwell  was  always  a  victim  of  sugges 
tion  and  flashes  of  passion.  The  polished  brutality 
of  his  father  and  the  mystic  gentleness  of  his  mother 
had  been  blended  in  him  by  a  droll  Fate  and,  later, 
confused  and  corrupted  by  his  Aunt  Olive's  ignorant 
training. 

From  that  day  Lansing  Treadwell  fell  into  the 
hands  of  Smith  Crothers,  and  the  plotting  evolved  so 
naturally,  so  apparently  wisely,  that  no  shock  or 
sense  of  injustice  aroused  all  that  was  good  in  the  last 
of  the  Hertfords.  Crothers  gradually  assumed  the 
guise  of  public  benefactor,  a  man  who,  resenting  the 
obvious  stupidity  of  men  like  Levi  Markham,  for  no 
ulterior  motive  other  than  human  rights,  undertook 
the  placing  of  Lansing  Hertford  upon  the  throne  of 
his  ancestors! 

Secrecy  was  absolutely  necessary.  Conditions 
might  arise  to  defeat  Crothers' philanthropic  schemes, 
but  when  all  was  concluded  Morley  must  be  taken 
into  their  confidence  and  made  to  understand  that 
open  and  fair  competition  was  both  right  and  demo 
cratic. 

And  while  all  this  was  going  on  Sandy  toiled  at 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  327 

the  buildings  all  day,  reported  progress  to  Levi 
every  evening,  tried  to  do  his  duty  by  Treadwell, 
while  he  sought  for  some  reason  to  get  him  away  be 
fore  any  harm  was  done. 

It  was  difficult  to  account  for  what  happened  to 
Cynthia  Walden  at  that  critical  time.  It  all  hap 
pened  so  quickly,  so  breathlessly.  The  child  in  the 
girl  was  flattered,  amused  and  uplifted  by  Lans 
Treadwell.  He  was  so  gay,  so  captivating.  He 
taught  her  to  play  on  Marcia  Lowe's  mandolin,  and 
when  he  discovered  how  splendidly  and  sweetly  she 
could  sing  the  plaintive  songs  of  her  hills  and  the 
melodies  of  the  old  plantation  days,  he  was  enrap 
tured  and  gave  such  praise  as  turned  Cynthia's  head 
and  filled  Marcia  Lowe  with  delight. 

"You  little  genius!"  Lans  exclaimed  one  day; 
"try  to  dance,  too.  You  look  like  a  spirit  of  the 
hills." 

Then  Cynthia  danced  and  danced  and  forgot 
Sandy  away  among  his  buildings;  forgot  his  grim 
determination  and  serious  manner.  It  was  song  and 
dance  for  Cynthia,  and  the  little  doctor  looking  on, 
charmed  by  the  turn  their  dull  life  had  taken, 
saw  no  danger.  To  her  Cynthia  was  a  child  still, 
and  she  was  grateful  that  she  should  have  this  bit  of 
brightness  and  joy  in  her  narrow,  drab-coloured  life. 

The  arrested  elements  in  Cynthia  grew  apace  and 
with  abnormal  force.  Through  Lans  Treadwell 
she  realized  all  the  froth  and  sunshine  girlhood 


328  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

craves  —  she  forgot  Sandy  because  at  that  moment 
he  held  no  part  in  the  gay  drama  that  was  set  to 
music  and  song,  And  then,  quite  naturally,  too,  the 
woman  in  the  girl  pleaded  for  recognition.  Here  was 
a  man  who  appreciated  her;  would  accept  her  as  she 
was,  although  he  asked  no  questions  of  her,  regarding 
her  poor  little  past.  He  talked  splendidly  of  the  big 
vital  things  of  life  which  Cynthia  thrilled  at,  but 
could  not  express  in  word  or  thought.  Oh!  it  was 
most  sure  that  Lans  Treadwell  would  never  care 
what  had  brought  her  into  being  —  it  was  the 
woman!  Sandy  might  do  a  big  thing  from  duty; 
Lans  would  do  big  things  because  with  him  duty  was 
but  love  of  —  humanity!  Cynthia  did  not  know 
much  about  humanity  and  Lans  never  said  he  loved 
her  —  but  it  came  upon  the  girl  all  at  once  one  day 
that  she  —  she,  little  Cynthia  Walden,  was  needed, 
desperately,  sufferingly  needed  by  a  great-souled 
man  to  help  in  saving  Lost  Hollow!  How  magnifi 
cent!  Sandy  meant  to  save  The  Hollow  alone  and 
single-handed  —  Sandy  was  limited,  that  was  Lans's 
modest  interpretation  —  but  Treadwell  had  his 
vision,  too,  and  his  vision  included  her!  It  was 
breath-taking  and  alluring. 

Treadwell  did  not  make  any  physical  or  emotional 
claims  upon  the  girl — something  led  him  dangerously, 
but  wisely.  He  taught  her  to  call  him  brother  and 
he  spoke  to  her  as  "little  sister."  This  was  particu 
larly  blinding  to  Marcia  Lowe. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  329 

"Brother  and  sister  in  the  broad  human  sense," 
pleaded  Lans,  and  so  the  net  drew  close  around 
little  Cyn,  and  she  did  not  struggle,  because  the  mesh 
was  so  open  and  free  that  it  did  not  chafe  the  delicate 
nature  nor  stunt  the  yet  blind  soul. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  week  Crothers,  in  fatherly 
manner,  suggested  to  Lans  that  he  was  compromis 
ing  Cynthia.  So  considerately  and  humanely  did  the 
man  speak  of  this  that  Lans  could  take  no  offence, 
particularly  as  Crothers  just  then  had  brought  their 
common  interests  to  such  a  pass  that  to  resent  any 
thing  would  have  been  fatal.  A  very  beautiful  and 
many-coloured  bubble  was  well  in  sight! 

"You  see,"  Crothers  explained,  "them  men  up  to 
Greeley's  store  are  a  right  evil  lot.  Knowing  that 
Cynthia  Walden  was  a  nameless  waif  when  old  Miss 
Ann  adopted  her,  they  cannot  believe  a  right  smart 
feller  like  you  has  honest  motives  and  they  are  get 
ting  ugly." 

Lans  had  heard  the  report  of  Cynthia's  early 
childhood;  the  girl  herself  had  sweetly  and  patheti 
cally  referred  to  it  —  and  they  thought  he  was  that 
kind,  eh?  Well,  he  would  show  them!  Having 
accepted  the  fate  of  the  man  on  a  desert  island, 
Lans  Treadwell  meant  to  treat  the  natives  he  found 
there,  fairly  and  nobly.  In  his  mind  he  had  cut 
himself  adrift  forever  from  the  old  life  and  its  claims; 
Cynthia  was  the  most  attractive  little  savage  on  his 
isolated,  safety  isle  —  he  would  claim  her  virtuously 


330  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

and  bravely;  he  would  train  her;  educate  her  to  be  no 
unworthy  mate  for  him  in  his  god-like  sacrifice  for 
his  family  honour. 

Never  had  Lans  Treadwell  been  so  dramatic  nor 
such  a  fool,  but  he  had  caught  little  Cyn,  and  before 
she  realized  what  had  happened  or  why  she  had  per 
mitted  it  to  happen,  she  drove  away  with  Treadwell 
over  the  hills  one  day  to  see  some  land  Crothers  had 
urged  him  to  look  at  and,  a  storm  overtaking  them, 
they  were  delayed  in  an  old  cabin  where  they  sought 
shelter  over  night  and  then  and  there  Lans  brought 
her  to  see  that  for  all  their  sakes  they  should  be 
married  before  going  home. 

"Married?"  gasped  Cynthia,  as  if  the  word  were 
foreign;  "married!  me,  little  Cyn?  Why,  only 
women  marry!" 

"And  you  are  a  woman,  sweet!"  Even  then 
Lans  did  not  touch  her,  though  she  looked  more 
divine  with  her  big  eyes  shining  and  the  blessed  smile 
parting  her  lips  than  he  had  ever  seen  her. 

"I  —  a  woman?  Well,  I  reckon  I  am  —  but  it 
seems  mighty  queer  when  you  first  think  of  it.  And 
—  the  folks  would  say  evil  things  of  me  because  you 
took  care  of  me  and  didn't  risk  my  neck  on  the  bad 
roads  in  the  dark?  What  could  they-all  say?" 

For  the  life  of  him  Lans  could  not  frame  the  words 
with  that  lovely  face  turned  to  his.  "You  must 
trust  me,  Cynthia.  I  will  protect  you  and  you  must 
protect  me." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  331 

"I  —  protect  you?  You  are  right  funny.  What 
could  they-all  do  to  you  ? " 

"They  could  horsewhip  me;  tar  and  feather 
me " 

"Oh!  no!'*  And  now  the  light  faded  from  the 
girl's  face.  Once  at  The  Forge  a  man  was  treated 
so  —  yes!  there  was  something  about  a  woman,  too! 

The  storm  had  raged  all  night.  Lans  made  a 
fire  and  laughed  and  joked  the  dark  lonely  hours 
through.  After  midnight  Cynthia  fell  asleep  from 
sheer  exhaustion  and  Lans  placed  his  overcoat  under 
her  head  while  he  smoked  by  the  fire  and  grew  —  as 
imagination  fed  upon  itself  —  into  a  being  so  immac 
ulate  and  saint-like  that  the  morning  found  him 
prepared  for  the  final  and  dramatic  climax.  He 
awoke  Cynthia,  touched  her  as  if  she  was  a  spirit,  and 
took  her  to  the  little  town  known  as  Sudley's  Gap 
and  there  —  married  her! 

Cynthia  was  excited  and  worn  from  her  night's 
experience,  but  the  ceremony  and  Lans's  manner 
made  it  all  seem  like  a  new  play.  They  were  always 
playing  together,  he  and  she.  Big  brother  and  little 
sister  lived  in  the  moment  and  had  no  care  for  the 
past  or  future.  They  had  breakfast  together,  after 
the  visit  to  the  missionary,  and  it  was  afternoon 
before  they  started  for  home.  At  last  Cynthia  grew 
very  quiet  —  the  play  had  tired  her;  she  was  fright 
ened  and  unhappy.  How  could  what  had  happened 
secure  Lans  from  the  anger  of  The  Hollow  folks,  K 


332  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

staying  away  were  wrong?  It  was  all  very  foolish. 
They  could  have  gone  to  Sandy  and  explained. 
Already  Sandy  stood  in  the  girl's  life  as  safety  and 
strength. 

Just  then  Lans  turned  and  looked  at  her.  To 
him  it  was  beyond  comprehension  that  a  girl  of  nine 
teen  could  be  what  Cynthia  was.  Ignorant  she 
might  be,  surely  was,  but  she  was  vital  and  human; 
she  had  witnessed  life  and  its  meaning  in  The  Hollow 
—  she  was  primitive  and  childish  —  but  she  under 
stood! 

Lans  felt  himself,  by  that  time,  to  be  about  the 
highest-minded  man  any  one  could  hope  to  find.  He 
had  practised  great  self-repression;  he  had  accepted 
his  future  life  suddenly,  but  with  all  its  significant 
responsibilities.  When  he  reached  The  Hollow  there 
would  be  tumult,  no  doubt,  but  every  man  and 
woman  there  would  count  on  the  hot,  impulsive 
Southern  blood  and,  after  the  first  shock,  would 
glory  in  a  Hertford  who  could  carry  things  with  such 
a  high  hand  and,  withal,  a  clean  hand! 

Laying  the  reins  down  over  the  dash-board,  Lans 
turned  to  Cynthia,  his  passion  gaining  power  over 
him  as  the  sense  of  possession  lashed  it  sharply. 
The  pretty  big-eyed  girl  was  his!  He  had  secured 
her  by  the  sacredest  ties,  but  for  that  very  reason  he 
need  withhold  himself  no  longer. 

"Wife!"  he  whispered.  "Wife,  come;  sweet, 
come!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  333 

This  was  no  play.  The  call  awakened  no  response, 
but  fear  laid  its  guarding  hand  upon  the  girl  as  it  had 
on  that  terrible  night  when  Smith  Crothers  asked  of 
her  what  Treadwell  was  now  seeking  in  a  different 
way,  but  in  the  same  language. 

"No!"  Cynthia  shuddered,  shrinking  from  him. 
"No!" 

The  denial  had  awakened  evil  in  Crothers;  it 
aroused  the  best  in  Treadwell.  For  a  moment  he 
looked  at  the  wild,  fear-filled  eyes  and  then  a  mighty 
pity  surged  over  him. 

"I  —  I  would  not  hurt  you  for  all  the  world,  little 
Cyn,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  reins.  "I've  done  the 
best  I  could  for  you,  dear;  when  you  can  you  will 
come  to  me  —  won't  you  ?  In  the  meantime  it's 
*  brother  and  little  sister!'" 

Come  to  him!  Thus  Sandy  had  spoken,  too! 
The  memory  hurt. 

The  strain  of  the  Markham  blood  rushed  hotly, 
at  the  instant,  in  Lans's  veins.  It  gave  him  courage 
and  strength  to  forget  —  the  Hertfords. 

He  took  Cynthia  to  Trouble  Neck  and  manfully 
told  Marcia  Lowe  what  had  occurred.  The  little 
doctor,  worn  by  anxiety,  was  almost  prostrated. 

"No  one  knows  but  what  Cynthia  was  here  all 
last  night,"  she  said.  "I've  lied  to  Tod  Greeley.  I 
told  him  you  had  not  taken  Cynthia;  that  she  was  ill 
with  headache." 

"Now!"   Cynthia  laughed  lightly;  "you    see  we 


334  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

need  not  have  done  that  silly  thing  at  Sudley's 
Gap." 

Marcia  Lowe  began  to  cry  softly. 

"Oh!  dear,"  she  faltered;  "but  Smith  Crothers 
knows  and  Sandy  Morley,  too.  Oh!  I  have  been  so 
blind,  so  foolish,  and  you  have  been  such  mad 
children." 

"I  am  going  to  Sandy  at  once,"  Lans  explained. 
The  plain  common-sense  atmosphere  of  the  cabin 
and  the  little  doctor's  evident  suffering  were  calming 
Treadwell's  hot  Southern  blood  and  giving  a  touch 
of  stern  prosaic  grimness  to  the  business. 

Cynthia,  once  she  was  safe  with  Marcia  Lowe, 
was  so  unflatteringly  happy  that  Lans  Treadwell 
might  well  be  pardoned  for  thinking  her  lacking  in 
ordinary  mentality,  and  this  thought  was  like  a  dash 
of  ice  water  on  his  growing  chilliness.  He  became 
awkward  and  nervous.  He  felt  like  a  man  who  had 
run  headlong  to  a  goal  only  to  find  that  it  was  the 
wrong  one,  with  no  strength  or  power  to  retrace 
his  steps  he  owed  to  defeat  and  failure,  and  in  that 
mood  he  sought  Sandy, 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MARCIA  LOWE  was  mistaken.  Sandy  did 
not  know.  He  knew  that  Treadwell  had 
not  returned  the  evening  before,  but  Tan- 
sey  Moore,  who  was  now  manager  of  Crothers'  new 
factory,  had  told  him  that  Treadwell  had  gone  to 
look  up  a  piece  of  land  back  of  Sudley's  Gap,  and  the 
storm  had  naturally  detained  him. 

The  sudden  growth  of  intimacy  between  Crothers 
and  Lans  surprised  and  amused  Sandy.  Full  well 
he  realized  Crothers'  motive,  and  he  could  afford  to 
laugh  at  that,  but  he  felt  annoyed  and  hurt  at  Lans's 
weak  falling  into  the  trap.  The  disloyalty  to  him 
self  did  not  affect  Sandy,  he  was  far  too  sensible  and 
simple  a  man  to  care  deeply  for  that,  and  it  somehow 
made  it  easier  for  him  to  reconcile  his  conscience  to 
the  growing  distrust  and  contempt  he  had  for  Tread- 
well,  but  he  disliked  the  idea  of  Crothers  using  his 
friend  to  gain  his  mean  ends. 

"Lans  is  not  one  to  tie  up  to,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  tken  smiled  at  the  quaint  expression  which  he 
had  learned  from  Levi.  "And  to-morrow  I  will  tell 
him  that  I  must  make  ready  for  the  Markhams. " 

The  day  after  Cynthia's  marriage  Sandy  had  gone 

335 


336  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

early  to  the  buildings.  He  and  Martin  had  worked 
hard;  settled  a  difficulty  among  the  men,  which  they 
both  felt  confident  Crothers  had  instigated,  and, 
upon  reaching  home  late  in  the  afternoon  Sandy  was 
told  that  Old  Andrew  Townley  was  ill  and  wanted 
him.  Liza  Hope  had  sent  word. 

"I  reckon  you  can  wait  to  eat,"  Sally  Taber  had 
suggested;  "ole  Andy  has  been  dyin'  with  consump 
tion  ever  since  dat  time  when  he  went  to  The  Forge 
an'  got  baptized  in  his  wife's  night  shift  —  him  not 
being  able  to  get  a  robe!  Andy  took  a  mighty  stiff 
chill  that-er-day  an'  it  war  like  a  finger  pintin*  the 
way  to  his  grave.  Andy  war  thirty  when  he  waddled 
into  de  Branch  in  dem  swaddling  clothes,  an'  he's 
over  ninety  now.  I  expect  he  can  hoi'  on  till  you've 
tended  to  yo'  stummick. " 

But  Sandy  had  not  waited.  He  went  to  Andrew 
and  found  the  old  man  wandering  on  to  the  end  of  his 
journey  in  a  very  happy  frame  of  mind.  He  was,  to 
himself,  no  longer  the  weak  creature  dying  in  his  poor 
cabin.  Lying  on  the  comfortable  cot  Sandy  had 
provided,  smilingly  gazing  through  the  broad  window 
Sandy's  inspired  saw  and  hammer  had  designed,  he 
believed  himself  to  be  a  young  and  strong  man 
helping  another  up  The  Way  with  guiding  hand 
and  cheerful  courage.  Sitting  by  the  bed,  Sandy 
took  the  cold,  shrivelled  fingers  in  his  warm  youag 
ones,  and  the  comforting  touch  focussed  the  wavor- 
uig  mind. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  337 

"Eh,  there,  son,  it's  a  right  smart  climb,  but  the 
end's  just  yonder !  See  that-er-light  ? " 

"Yes,  old  friend,  I  see  the  light." 

Sandy  bent  low  and  whispered  gently. 

"That-er-light,  son,  is  in  Parson  Starr's  window. 
Starr,  Starr!  He  war  a  mighty  clear  star  an'  his 
light  ain't  going  out,  I  reckon.  Hold  fast,  son!  A 
few  more  steps  and  the  totin'  will  be  over.  It's  been 
right  heavy  goin'  —  but  — 

The  poor  old  body  struggled  to  rise  and  Sandy, 
putting  an  arm  under  the  shoulders,  lifted  Andrew 
to  a  sitting  position. 

"Do  you  see  the  —  light,  old  friend?" 

"I  —  see  —  the  star!" 

"Yes.     The  star  and  the  light,  Andy?" 

"Yes  — that's  — home!" 

Facing  the  west  with  wide  welcoming  eyes,  Andrew 
slipped  from  life  so  gently  and  quietly  that  for  some 
minutes  Sandy  held  him  without  knowing  that  the 
light  had  gone  out  and  the  weary  soul  had  reached 
home  by  The  Appointed  Way.  When  the  knowl 
edge  came  to  him,  his  eyes  dimmed  and  reverently 
he  lay  the  stiffening  form  back  upon  the  pillow; 
crossed  the  thin,  worn  hands  upon  the  peaceful 
breast,  and  turned  to  his  next  duty  with  a  murmured 
farewell  to  ears  that  no  longer  could  be  comforted  by 
his  kind  words. 

Sandy  went  home  and  ate  his  evening  meal  with 
his  father.  He  did  not  mention  Andrew's  death. 


338  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Martin  was  so  genuinely  happy  at  having  his  son 
to  himself  and  Lansing  Treadwell  out  of  the  house, 
that  Sandy  disliked  to  shadow  the  joy. 

"Suppose  we  read  a  bit,"  he  suggested  when  the 
two  were  seated  in  the  study.  Martin  accepted 
joyously.  "What  shall  it  be,  Dad?" 

"Well,  son,  it  do  seem  triflin'  to  set  your  mind  to 
anything  but  Holy  Writ  when  you're  idle,  but  to-day 
I  found  an  ole  paper  up  to  the  works  with  a  mighty 
stirrin'  picture  on  it;  a  real  techersome  picture  of  a 
man  danglin'  from  a  high  cliff  by  his  two  hands,  and 
nothin'  'twixt  him  an'  certain  death,  I  reckon,  but 
the  writingman's  understandin'  of  the  scene.  Yo' 
know,  Sandy,  I  ain't  had  my  specs  fitted  yet  an'  so 
I  couldn't  fin'  out  about  the  picture  an'  it's  been 
right  upsettin'  to  me  all  day. " 

Sandy  took  the  crumpled  paper  Martin  produced 
from  an  inside  pocket  and  began  to  read  the 
hair-raising  tale.  Toward  the  end  he  discovered 
it  was  a  serial  which  left  the  hero,  at  the  most 
breathless  point,  still  hanging.  Thereupon  Sandy 
evolved  from  his  own  imagination  a  fitting  and 
lurid  ending  that  appeased  Martin's  sense  of  crude 
justice  and  left  nothing  to  his  yearning  soul  un 
answered. 

"I  call  that-er-tale  a  mighty  good  one,"  Martin 
remarked  when,  hands  upon  knees,  eyes  staring,  and 
chin  hanging,  he  heard  the  grand  finale.  "Taint 
alias  as  the  ungodly  gets  fetched  up  with  so  cutely. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  339 

It's  right  cornfortin'  to  think  o'  that  low-down  trash 
a-festerin'  in  tke  bottom  o'  the  gulch. " 

Then  Martin,  the  gentlest  of  creatures,  went 
pattering  up  to  bed  in  his  stocking  feet,  muttering 
cheerfully  to  himself  as  he  mounted  the  dark  stairs, 
candle  in  outstretched  hand : 

"A  festerin'  eternally  at  the  bottom!" 

After  his  father  departed  Sandy  sat  by  his  fire 
alone  and  waited.  So  Lans  found  him,  and  gloomily 
took  a  chair  across  the  hearth. 

"Have  you  had  supper,  Lans?"  Sandy  asked 
after  greeting  him  cordially. 

"Yes.  The  storm  kept  me  last  night.  I  got 
back  —  not  long  ago.  I  had  a  bite  while  I  waited 
for  the  horse  to  be  seen  to.  The  poor  beast  was 
pretty  well  worn  out." 

There  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  more  to  say  on 
that  subject,  so  Sandy  remarked: 

"  Smoke  if  you  care  to,  Lans ;  don't  mind  me. " 

But  Lans  did  not  care  to  smoke  and  suddenly  he 
jumped  up,  plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and 
faced  Sandy  with  crimson  cheeks  and  wide  eyes. 

"Sand,"  he  blurted  out,  "I'm  in  a  devil  of  a  hole; 
I've  pulled  about  all  Lost  Hollow  in  with  me.  I'm 
a  fool  and  worse,  but  you  know  how  I  am.  Any  big 
passion  that  seizes  me  —  holds  me!  I'm  not  re 
sponsible  while  the  clutch  is  on  me.  I  ought  to  be 
taken  out  and  shot.  I  '! 

But  Sandy's  blank  stare  called  a  halt. 


340  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"I  —  I  wouldn't  take  it  that  way,  Treadwell, " 
he  said,  thinking  that  some  obvious  villainy  of 
Crothers'  had  opened  Lans's  eyes  to  facts;  "I  may 
be  able  to  get  you  out  of  the  hole. " 

Then,  ludicrously,  the  story  he  had  just  read  to  his 
father  came  into  his  mind.  Lans  seemed  to  be  the 
creature  at  the  bottom  of  the  gulch,  and  it  was  up  to 
him,  Sandy,  to  rescue  the  knave  in  spite  of  Martin's 
satisfaction  in  leaving  him  there  to  fester.  Sandy 
smiled. 

"Good  God,  Morley,  what  are  you  laughing  at?" 
Lans  cried;  "this  is  no  laughing  matter." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Lans.  An  idiotic  thing 
occurred  to  me  and  you  are  such  a  tragic  cuss  that  I 
never  can  think  things  are  as  bad  with  you  as  you 
imagine." 

"Sand,  this  is  a  —  hell  of  a  thing!  I  don't  know 
what  you  will  say.  Fellows  like  you  with  their 
hands  always  on  their  tillers,  fellows  with  cool  heads 
and  calm  passions  never  can  understand  us  who  fly 
off  at  every  spark  that's  set  to  us.  All  I  can  promise 
you  is  this  —  help  me  now  and,  by  God!  I'll  let  your 
hand  rest  on  my  tiller  till  I  get  into  smooth  waters 
again  and  —  I've  learned  my  lesson!  What  I've 
got  to  tell  you  sounds  like  a  yarn,  Sand.  All  the 
time  I  was  coming  up  The  Way  I  kept  repeating 
'it's  not  true!'  but  good  Lord  —  it  is!  Morley,  I'm 
married.  I  was  married  early  this  morning!" 

The  little  woman  struggling  with  her  problem  up 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  341 

North  came  to  Sandy's  mind.  She  had  not  been  able 
to  keep  up  the  fight;  she  had  followed  Lans  and  — 
but  no!  If  there  had  been  a  wedding  then  the  hus 
band  must  have  died  I  Sandy  looked  puzzled. 

"If  it  was  the  best,  the  only  way,  old  man,"  he 
said,  "I  don't  see  why  you  should  take  it  this  fashion. 
You  —  loved  her;  you  cannot  have  changed  in  so 
short  a  time." 

And  now  it  was  Lans's  turn  to  stare  blankly. 
With  his  temperament,  time  and  place  had  no  part. 
He  was  either  travelling  through  space  at  a  thunder 
ing  speed  or  stagnating  in  a  vacuum.  He  had  almost 
forgotten  Marian  Spaulding  and  his  present  affair 
took  on  new  and  more  potent  meanings. 

"I  —  I  married  Cynthia  Walden!"  he  gasped.  "I 
married  her  —  this  morning.  We  were  out  alone 
all  last  night.  The  —  storm  —  you  —  know!  She 
didn't  understand  —  I  tried  to  —  to  shield  her — 
she  doesn't  understand  —  now.  Good  God !  Mor- 
ley,  stop  staring!  Say  something,  for  heaven's  sake! " 

But  Sandy  could  not  speak,  and  his  brain  whirled  so 
dizzily  that  he  dared  not  shut  his  eyes  for  fear  of 
falling.  Like  a  man  facing  death  with  only  a  mo 
ment  in  which  to  speak  volumes,  he  groped  among 
the  staggering  mass  of  facts  that  were  hurtling 
around  him,  for  one,  one  only,  that  would  save  the 
hour.  He  remembered  vividly  the  old  story  ot 
Cynthia's  mother  which  Ann  Walden  had  proclaimed, 
but  he  remembered,  also,  the  hideous  belief  that  lay 


342  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

low  in  Lost  Hollow.  Dead  and  buried  was  the 
doubt,  but  now  it  rose  grim  and  commanding. 
Sandy  tried  to  form  the  words :  "  She  is  your  sister ! " 
But  the  words  would  not  come  through  the  stiff, 
parted  lips.  Honesty  held  them  in  check;  they  must 
not  become  a  living  thought  unless  absolute  proof 
were  there  to  substantiate  them. 

The  two  men  confronted  each  other  helplessly, 
silently,  and  then  Lans  Treadwell,  overcome  by 
sudden  remorse,  and  a  kind  of  fear,  strove  to  propi 
tiate  the  sternness  that  found  no  expression  in  words. 

"I've  been  devilishly  wrong,  Sand,  and  returned 
your  hospitality  and  friendship  with  bad  grace,  old 
fellow,  but  I  drifted  into  it  and  when  it  was  too  late 
—  I  did  what  seemed  the  only  decent  thing.  I 
know  I  couldn't  have  explained,  and  she  turned  my 
senses  by  her  sweetness.  She's  like  a  baby,  Morley, 
and  I  mean  to  —  to  do  the  right  by  her,  as  God  hears 
me!" 

Treadwell  used  the  name  of  God  so  frequently  and 
ardently  that  it  sickened  Sandy. 

"Yes,"  he  groaned,  "you  will  do  right  by  her 

or '  the  dark  eyes  flashed  dangerously;  "and 

you'll  do  right  by  her  —  in  my  way!" 

This  was  unfortunate  and  Sandy  saw  his  mistake. 
Lans  Treadwell's  shoulders  straightened  and  his  jaw 
set  in  ugly  lines. 

"If  it's  going  to  be  man  to  man,  Sand,"  he  mut 
tered,  "I  reckon  I've  got  the  whip  hand.  She's  my 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  343 

wife,  you  know,  and  the  laws  of  this  nice  little  state 
are  pretty  explicit  along  certain  lines.  When  all's 
said  and  done  —  what  are  you,  as  a  man,  mind  you, 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

Again  the  staggering  doubt  was  like  a  weapon  for 
Sandy's  use,  but  he  hesitated  still. 

"I  —  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  you  have  done?'* 
he  groaned  again. 

"When  you  talk  like  that,  Sand,"  Lans  whispered, 
his  face  softening,  "I  don't!  And  I  implore  you  to 
help  me." 

"You  don't  know  our  South,  our  Hollow,"  Sandy 
went  on,  with  a  pitiful  tone  in  his  unsteady  voice. 
"It  takes  us  so  long  to  —  wake  up!  It's  something 
in  the  air,  the  sun,  the  winters  —  the  life.  Cynthia 
has  not  roused  —  she  is  only  dreaming  in  her  sleep. 
She's  a  child,  a  little  girl,  and  you  have  dragged  her 
into " 

"Hold  on,  Sand!"  Lans  warned  once  more. 

"I  have  been  waiting"  —  Sandy  did  not  seem  to 
heed  the  caution  —  "I've  been  waiting  and  watching 
for  the  hour  when  she  would  realize  that  she  was  a 
woman.  I've  loved  her  all  my  life,  worshipped  her, 
but  I  would  not  have  startled  her  before  her  time  to 
have  saved  my  soul  from  death!  Had  she  realized, 
Treadwell  —  had  things  been  open  and  fair,  I  would 
have  taken  my  chance  —  but  —  you ! " 

Again  the  blaze  darted  to  Treadwell's  eyes. 

"And  what  do  you  insinuate?"  he  asked  —  but 


344  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

he  got  JIG  farther.  There  was  the  sound  of  quick, 
approaching  steps  outside  and  a  moment  later  a 
sharp  knock  on  the  door;  Sandy  strode  forward  and 
opened  it,  then  closed  it  upon  Marcia  Lowe  and 
Cynthia. 

Quickened  by  spiritual  insight  Sandy  saw  that  the 
girl  was  awake  to  the  reality  of  things.  Shock  had 
shattered  her  childishness  forever,  but  she  was  not 
afraid.  Uncertainty  and  ignorance  were  there,  but 
no  sense  of  danger  in  the  clear,  wonderful  eyes. 

"Oh!  Sandy,"  she  panted,  going  close  to  him  and 
holding  her  hands  out,  "Sandy,  you  know?" 

"Yes." 

"I  wanted  to  be  here  with  you-all  after  she"  — 
the  sweet  eyes  turned  to  Marcia  Lowe  —  "told  me. 
I  —  I  thought  maybe  he" —  she  glanced  toward 
Treadwell — "  might  not  tell  you,  till  morning.  Poor 
dear!" 

This  last  was  to  Sandy,  for  the  look  in  his  eyes 
wrung  the  tender  heart  with  divine  pity. 

"Sit  down,"  Sandy  urged,  placing  chairs  near  the 
hearth  and  bending  to  lay  on  more  wood,  "there  is 
much  to  say." 

Then  it  was  that  the  little  doctor  took  command. 
She  did  not  sit  down  as  the  others  had;  she  stood  by 
the  table  with  some  loose  papers  in  her  hand. 

"I  feel  as  if  it  were  all  my  fault,"  she  began. 
"Things  lie  so  still  here;  we  seem  so  shut  in.  Cyn 
thia  has  been  like  a  child  to  me  —  I  haven't  thought 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  345 

ahead  and  I  just  played  with  her  and  worked  out — 
my  puzzle  piece  by  piece.  It  was  only  a  week  ago 
that  I  felt  sure;  I  meant  to  tell  Cynthia  slowly  and 
little  by  little  —  and  then  this  happened!" 

Marcia  Lowe's  face  was  fixed  and  white.  No  one 
spoke.  Then  she  went  on  again. 

"  I  have  always  believed  Cynthia's  father  was  — 
my  uncle,  Theodore  Starr  I  I  came  to  Lost  Hollow 
because  I  believed  that,  but  I  had  no  absolute  proof 
and  Ann  Walden  denied  me  support.  But  look  at 
her  —  look  at  Cynthia  and  me!  Of  course  I  am  old, 
old,  and  she's  a  baby,  but  can't  you  read  God's  hand 
writing  in  our  faces?  See  the  colour,  form  —  ex 
pression  

Morley  and  Treadwell  stared  at  the  two  faces  and 
into  their  benumbed  consciousness  something  vital 
struggled  to  life.  It  brought  a  gleam  to  Lans's  eyes; 
a  groan  of  surrender  to  Sandy's  lips!  The  contrite 
voice  was  going  on  and  on. 

"There  was  no  marriage  certificate.  There  had 
been  an  unhappy  engagement  between  my  uncle  and 
Ann  Walden  —  he,  poor,  timid,  gentle  soul,  dared  not 
speak  at  the  proper  moment,  he  dreaded  giving  pain, 
and  he  married  Cynthia's  mother  privately,  and  be 
fore  things  could  be  made  plain  —  he  died  up  in  the 
hills,  serving  men!  The  man  that  married  them 
went  away  —  only  a  year  ago  he  came  back;  re 
cently  Mr.  Greeley  drove  over  to  Sudley's  Gulch  to 
make  a  will  for  this  man;  Cynthia  and  I  went  with 


346  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

him.  The  man  died  a  few  days  ago.  Among  his 
papers  was  a  notebook  in  which  was  recorded  the 
marriage  of  Queenie  Walden  and  Theodore  Starr  I 
The  man  was  a —  a  magistrate,  the  thing  was  legal 
—  Little  Cyn  is  —  my  niece!" 

An  empty  room  never  seems  so  still  as  one  in 
which  living,  wordless  men  and  women  are  held  by 
breathless  silence.  Treadwell  dared  not  speak.  He 
seemed  a  stranger;  one  who  had  no  right  to  be  there. 
Cynthia's  eyes  were  lifted  to  Sandy  Morley's  face 
and  did  not  fall  away.  Having  said  what  she  had 
come  to  say,  Marcia  Lowe  held  out  her  written 
words  of  proof  and  waited.  After  a  long  pause 
Cynthia  spoke  and  her  voice  was  electrical  in  its 
effect. 

" Sandy,"  she  said,  going  close1  to  him  and  holding 
him  with  her  clear  gaze  and  slow,  brave  smile,  "you 
know  I  did  not  mean  —  to  do  wrong?" 

"Yes,  little  Cyn." 

"I'm  right  glad  I'm  —  I'm  my  dear  father's  child. 
All  my  life  he's  been  a  happy  name  to  me  —  and  I'm 
mighty  proud  to  be  his,  really.  I'm  going  to  be 
brave  for  him  and  my  mother!  Sandy  —  I  am  not 
afraid  —  I  am  not  afraid ! "  The  words  came  slowly, 
drawlingly  but  unbrokenly. 

"My  aunt,"  and  for  an  instant  the  eyes  rested  on 
the  bowed  head  of  Marcia  Lowe,  "has  told  me  many 
things  —  I  understand  right  many  things,  now!  I 
know  you-all  want  to  help  me;  want  the  best  for 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  347 

me  —  but  what's  done,  is  done,  Sandy  Morley,  and  I 
can  do  my  part.     If  —  if  —  my  husband  wants  me 

—  I  am  ready  —  to  go  to  him.     Sandy,  I  am  not 
afraid!" 

Then  they  waited.  Sandy  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire,  motionless  and  white;  Marcia  Lowe  had 
sunk  into  a  chair  and  bending  forward  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands;  Cynthia  drew  back  from  Sandy  and 
stood  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

What  emotions  and  thoughts  swayed  Lans  Tread- 
well,  who  could  know?  But  looking  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  little  group  the  craven  distrust  died 
from  his  face  and  an  uplifted  expression  took  its 
place.  He  stood  straight  and  tall  and  good  to  look 
upon  as  he  realized  that  he  was  at  last  the  final 
judge. 

"Cynthia!"  he  said  calmly,  and  his  voice  was  low 
and  firm;  "I  do  —  want  you!  you  are  my  wife! 
You  are  not  afraid?" 

Slowly  he  stepped  over  to  her;  he  forgot  the  others 

—  he  and  she  were  all!     He  put  out  his  hands  and 
Cynthia  laid  hers  in  them. 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  she  whispered.  And  before 
the  light  in  her  upraised  eyes  Lans  Treadwell  did 
not  flinch. 

"I,  too,  wish  to  help  you  —  in  my  own  way.  Can 
you  trust  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  leave  the  hills  with  me  —  me  alone?" 


348  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

For  an  instant  the  sweet  smile  faded,  but  it  was  for 
the  loss  of  her  mountains;  not  her  doubt  of  her  hus 
band  which  drove  it  away. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured. 

Then  Sandy  found  his  way  back  from  his  place  of 
torment  and  he  strode  to  the  two  in  the  middle  of  the 
room.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  TreadwelPs  shoulder, 
and  all  the  smouldering  passion  in  his  heart  rang  in 
his  words. 

"Lansing  Treadwell,  swear  to  me,  that  you  will 
leave  her  soul  to  her  own  keeping  until " 

Treadwell  gave  him  a  long,  steady  look. 

"I  swear!"  he  said. 

"When  —  her  hour  comes  to  —  understand  and 
choose  —  let  her  be  white  and  pure  as  she  is  now!" 

"I  swear  it,  Sandy  Morley. " 

"Then,"  and  now  Sandy's  eyes  dimmed,  "good-bye, 
little  Cyn.  You'll  miss  the  mountains  —  but  there 
are  good,  true  hearts  —  down  beyond  The  Way. " 

At  this  Marcia  Lowe  drew  near: 

"Little  girl  —  come  home!  She  is  mine  until 
you  take  her  from  Lost  Hollow,  Lansing  Treadwell. " 

The  hands  that  held  Cynthia's  let  her  free.  A 
pause  followed.  Then: 

"Good-night  —  good-night!"  The  pretty,  pale 
face  flushed  tenderly.  "Good-night.  And  now 
come,  dear  Cup-o'-Cold- Water  Lady!" 

The  sweet  attempt  at  cheer  all  but  crushed  those 
who  heard  and  understood. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  Markhams  came  to  Lost  Mountain  early 
in  December.  The  weather  was  fair  and 
mild  and  much  of  the  time  could  be  spent 
out  of  doors.  Matilda,  frail  but  with  that  gentle 
tenacity  of  life  that  marks  many  women  for  longev 
ity,  settled  at  once  into  the  semi-rough  life  of  the 
cabin  with  innate  delicacy  and  aptness.  The  rooms 
Sandy  had  so  lovingly  planned  and  furnished  became 
furs  after  the  first  day,  and  no  truer  compliment  could 
have  been  paid  her  host  than  this  homelike  accep 
tance  of  his  thoughtfulness.  To  see  her  soft,  bright 
knitting  in  the  sitting-room  gave  Sandy  a  positive 
thrill  and  when  he  came  back,  after  a  long  day  of 
tramping  about  with  Levi,  and  found  the  dear,  smil 
ing  woman  awaiting  him,  he  knew  the  first  touch  of 
the  mother  in  his  own  home  that  had  ever  been  his. 
A.nd  sorely  the  poor  fellow  needed  it  just  then! 

Levi,  too,  was  a  saving  grace  in  those  empty  hours 
after  Cynthia's  going.  Swelling  with  pride,  he  fol 
lowed  Sandy  about  from  cabin  to  factory;  from  fac 
tory  to  Home-school.  In  vain  he  struggled  to 
suppress  any  outward  show  of  the  pride  and  delight 
he  took  in  everything  he  saw.  He  sought  to  keep 

349 


350  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

things  upon  a  dull,  business  level,  but  exultation  at 
times  overcame  him  when  Sandy  was  well  out  of 
sight.  To  Martin  or  Matilda  he  permitted  himself 
a  bit  of  relaxation. 

"Well,"  he  had  said  to  Martin  after  the  first 
strangeness  had  worn  off,  "so  you  are  the  father  of 
this  boy,  eh?" 

"lam,  sir!" 

The  pride  that  rang  in  Morley's  voice  was  never 
veiled,  and  his  native  dignity  was  touching. 

"I  reckon  any  one  might  doubt  it,  sir,  seeing  him 
and  me,  but  he's  mine  and  I'm  his." 

"Well,  well!"  Markham  put  his  hand  out  frankly. 
"I  hope  you're  grateful." 

"I  am  mighty  grateful,  sir.  Mornin'  an'  night  I 
kneel  an'  thank  my  God,  an'  day  in  an'  out  I  live 
the  poor  best  I  can,  sir,  my  thankfulness." 

Markham  gripped  the  thin,  hard  hand  appreci 
atively.  He  knew  more  of  Martin  than  Martin  sus 
pected,  for  Marcia  Lowe  had  made  it  her  first  duty, 
after  the  Markhams'  arrival,  to  get  into  touch  with 
them.  Not  Sandy  alone  had  been  the  theme  of  the 
little  doctor's  discourse;  Martin's  grim  and  self-sacri 
ficing  fight  in  her  cabin  was  given  in  detail  with 
other  happenings  in  The  Hollow. 

"Oh!  they  are  so  big  and  silent  and  patient,"  Miss 
Lowe  had  explained,  "they  cannot  for  one  moment 
comprehend  their  own  importance  in  the  scheme  of 
things.  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  shine  up  their  virtues." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  351 

Lev!  was  deeply  touched  by  all  he  heard,  and  when 
things  puzzled  him  he  gruffly  insisted  that  he  needed 
a  walk  to  calm  his  nerves,  and  always  it  was  the  little 
doctor  who  straightened  the  tangle. 

"Miss  Interpreter,"  Markham  dubbed  her,  and 
through  her  he  became  acquainted  with  Smith 
Crothers  and  Crothers'  mark  upon  recent  occur 
rences.  Of  course  Levi  knew  of  Lans  Treadwell's 
visit  to  the  hills.  Markham  was  not  a  superstitious 
man,  but  he  had  remarked  to  Matilda  before  they 
came  to  Lost  Hollow  that  it  "looked  like  the  hand  of 
God. "  After  a  seance  or  so  at  Trouble  Neck,  Levi 
changed  his  mind. 

"I  tell  you,  Matilda,"  he  confided  by  her  fireside 
one  night  after  a  particularly  satisfying  day  with 
Sandy,  "we  take  for  granted  that  God  Almighty's 
hand  is  the  only  guiding  in  the  final  analysis,  but  the 
devil  gets  in  a  twist  now  and  again,  and  I  guess  he  had 
more  to  do  with  Lansing's  heading  up  here  than 
God  did.  Once  old  Nick  got  the  boy  here  he  did  his 
best  to  use  him,  too,  but  from  what  I  can  learn  Lans 
spunked  up  at  the  end  and  showed  himself  more  of  a 
man  than  we  might  have  expected.  He  played  a 
good  deal  of  havoc  in  a  few  short  weeks,  though. " 

Marcia  Lowe  had  eliminated  Sandy  from  poor 
Cynthia's  romance  or  tragedy.  She  had  put  a  purely 
commercial  valuation  upon  Crothers'  interference, 
for  the  look  on  Sandy's  face  the  night  he  bade  Cyn 
thia  good-bye  haunted  the  little  doctor  and  would 


352  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

to  the  last  day  of  her  life.  Before  it  her  eyes  had 
fallen,  and  whenever  she  recalled  the  scene  a  silence 
fell  upon  her.  No  thought  or  word  could  express 
what  she,  too  late,  surmised,  and  her  lips  guarded  the 
sanctity  of  Sandy's  secret. 

When  Levi  confided  Marcia  Lowe's  interpreta 
tions  to  his  sister  she  was  very  unresponsive.  She 
listened  but  made  no  comment  other  than : 

"Sandy  works  too  hard.  He  looks  real  peaked  to 
me.  It  don't  count  to  your  credit,  Levi,  or  his 
either,  for  that  matter,  if  he  feels  he's  got  to  pay  you 
back  in  bone  and  muscle  past  a  certain  point.'* 

"Now,  'Tilda,"  Levi  put  in,  "what  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"I  mean "  Matilda  condensed  her  impres 
sions:  "I  think  he  looks  real  pinched  and  peaked." 

This  put  Markham  on  a  new  track,  and  the  next 
day  he  fell  upon  Sandy  with  the  one  weapon  which, 
more  than  any  other,  caused  Sandy  to  love  and 
honour  him. 

"See  here,  son,"  —  it  was  oftener  "son"  than 
"boy"  now  —  "don't  get  any  fool  idea  in  your  head 
that  you  owe  me  more  than  an  eight  hour  day's 
work." 

They  were  going  over  the  plans  of  the  Home- 
school  as  Levi  spoke,  and  Sandy  laughed  lightly. 
"You  are  my  agent,  my  —  my  promoter,  son,  and, 
as  such,  you  hold  a  responsible  position  at  —  at 
good  pay!" 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  353 

"Thank  you,  sir.  I  understand  that  and  I  am 
anxious  to  carry  out  your  wishes.  I  am  eager  to  get 
this  thing  running,  not  for  you,  sir,  alone,  but  my 
people.  Crothers  seems  hell-bound  just  now  in 
frightening  them  into  signing  contracts  for  them 
selves  and  their  children  for  years  to  come.  Of 
course  the  contracts  are  not  worth  the  paper  they  are 
written  on,  but  a  general  belief  is  spreading  that  our 
works  cannot  be  relied  upon  and,  in  order  to  benefit 
The  Hollow,  Crothers  is  offering  to  protect  the 
people  against  us  by  securing  positions  for  them  if 
they  will  agree  to  stand  by  him.  When  I  think  of 
the  baby-things,  sir,  and  the  long,  deadly  hours  of 
toil  that  lead  to  no  preparation  for  betterment,  my 
soul  sickens.  Now  this,  sir" — Sandy  pointed  to  a 
particularly  high  and  open  space  on  the  blue  print 
— "is  the  hospital  room." 

"The  —  the  what?"  Levi  put  on  his  glasses. 

"The  hospital  room,  sir,  I'm  going  to  put  Miss 
Lowe  in  control;  I'd  like  to  have  another  physician 
too,  sir,  and  a  few  nurses.  Right  up  there" 
Sandy's  eyes  gleamed  as  they  followed  his  finger  to  the 
space  on  the  blue  print  — "we  want  to  tackle  the  real 
trouble  of  the  South,  sir.  Why,  do  you  know  I  only 
heard  the  other  day  that  Tod  Greeley  went  to  our 
representative,  a  year  ago,  and  begged  him  to  get 
an  appropriation  from  Congress  to  start  the  work 
against  the  hook  worm  in  this  district  and  the  request 
was  refused."  Sandy  gave  a  hard  laugh.  "Well,  I 


354  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

reckon  Greeley  and  I  know  why,  sir.  Lost  Hollow 
is  too  ignorant.  Our  votes  can  be  got  without  the 
appropriation.  The  big,  human  need  does  not 
matter!  Where  there  is  more  intelligence  the  rep 
resentatives  have  to  understand  conditions.  But 
it  will  matter  by  and  by,  sir!  I  know  what  that 
little  doctor  did  for  my  father.  I  know  what  she's 
done  for  one  or  two  of  Mason  Hope's  children  and 
the  girl  of  Tansey  Moore's  who  was  —  who  was  like 
my  sister  Molly!  I  want  Miss  Lowe  and  her  helpers 
to  have  that  high  and  bright  place,  sir,  for  their 
workshop.  It  must  have  sun  and  air,  sir,  and  books 
and  toys  and  —  and  music,  too,  for  the  fight  is  a  hard 
and  bitter  one  and  the  days  and  nights,  at  best,  are 
terrible." 

Levi  Markham  leaned  back,  took  off  his  glasses 
and  fixed  Sandy  with  his  keen  glance.  For  a  few 
moments  he  could  not  speak;  he  had  been  carried  far 
and  beyond  his  normal  depth.  When  he  got  com 
mand  of  himself,  he  said  slowly: 

"  Son,  it  looks  to  me  as  if  we  would  need  all  we  can 
make  up  North  to  stamp  out  some  of  the  evils  of  the 
South,  but,  God  willing,  we're  going  to  make  a 
stab  at  it!  See  here,  who  is  the  representative  for 
this  district?" 

Sandy  gave  the  name  of  a  man  many  miles  away. 

"Well,  I  guess  he  can  be  brought  to  learn  the  lan 
guage  of  Lost  Hollow,  son,  if  some  one  shows  him  his 
duty.  Some  good  laws,  too,  that  would  put  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  355 

quietus  on  this  Smith  Crothers'  ambitions  ought  to 
be  looked  after.  He  shouldn't  be  the  say-all  up  here. 
No  man  is  good  enough  or  safe  enough  to  take  the 
bit  in  his  own  teeth  —  not  even  you,  Sandy  Morleyl" 

"Law,  well  carried  out,  is  the  best  way,  sir." 

"Exactly!  And  now  for  the  rest  of  the  building, 
boy.  What  are  these  little  cubby  holes?" 

"Bedrooms,  sir.  This  is  only  an  idea  of  my  own. 
It's  rather  extravagant  and  it's  subject  to  your 
decision,  of  course.  I'd  like  to  have  each  child  have 
his  own  room,  sir.  A  boy  or  girl  grows  so  in  a  special 
little  corner  that  is  quite  his  own.  I  have  a  design 
of  a  small  chest  of  drawers  that  I'd  like  to  show  you 
later.  It  does  not  take  up  much  space  and  it  com 
bines  washstand,  bureau,  table  and  —  a  place  for 
the  boy  or  girl's  things. " 

"Things?"  Levi  was  again  bending  over  the  blue 
print. 

"Yes,  sir.  Things  dear  to  each  child's  heart. 
Stones,  sticks,  anything  that  cannot  be  —  explained." 
Sandy  gave  a  low  laugh.  He  was  harking  back  to 
the  old  shed  beside  his  father's  cabin  and  the  gay 
prints  tacked  to  the  worm-eaten  boards. 

"The  separate  rooms  can  stand,  son,  and  those  little 
jimcracks  of  drawers  are  favourably  passed  on,  too. 
And  these?"  Levi's  thick  forefinger  stopped  at  the 
elevation  of  the  first  floor. 

Sandy  gave  a  rich,  satisfied  laugh  of  content. 

"Well,  sir,  it  is  this-er-way"     -The  Hollow's  soft 


356  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

running  of  the  words  together  delighted  Levi's  ear  — 
"when  the  poor  little  creatures  have  had  their  fight 
out  on  the  upper  floor  and  have  got  down  to  these 
small  rooms  and  have  realized  that  they  are  human 
beings,  then  we're  going  to  fix  them  —  fix  them,  sir, 
right  here!"  Sandy's  eyes  flashed  and  his  jaw  set 
in  the  stern,  grim  fashion  that  Levi  had  long  since 
grown  to  watch  for  and  admire. 

"By  the  time  they  reach  the  ground  floor,  sir,  I 
reckon  we  can  tackle  them  and  begin  to  make  them 
pay  for  themselves.  By  that  time  they  will  have 
something  to  draw  on  and  we'll  exact  payment. 
Right  here  and  here"  —  Sandy's  forefinger  was  go 
ing  rapidly  from  point  to  point,  and  Levi's  stubby 
digit  was  lat  rriously  following— -"are  the  workshops, 
the  school  rooms,  the  kitchens  and  conservatories. 
Why,  sir,  even  the  idiot  children  can  be  utilized. 
They  love  flowers  and  animals;  we  must  find  their 
one  gleam  and  guide  their  poor  feet  on  the  way. 
Good  food,  honest  hours  of  work,  systematic  exercise 
and  proper  amusement  —  why,  sir,  from  this  ground 
floor  we  are  to  send  men  and  women  out  into  the 
world  who  will  reflect  credit  on  Lost  Hollow  and 
redeem  its  name.  And  you,  sir  — 

The  two  men  faced  each  other  suddenly.  Mark- 
ham  seemed  to  realize  anew  the  delicacy  and  fineness 
of  the  thin,  brown  face  —  Matilda's  words  rang  in 
his  ears,  "he  looks  real  pinched  and  peaked."  The 
homely  phrase  carried  more  weight  to  Markham 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  357 

than  any  scientific  terms  of  a  specialist.  A  sharp 
pain  shot  through  his  heart;  he  had  the  quick  im 
pulse  to  shield  and  protect  this  young  fellow  who  was 
being  carried  afield  on  the  wings  of  his  enthusiasm. 
Protect  him  from  what? 

"See  here,  son,  we  cannot  afford  to  go  too  fast 
with  this  hobby  of  yours.  Get  the  buildings  up  as 
soon  as  you  can;  carry  out  all  the  material  plans 
just  as  you  have  designed,  but  we've  got  to  get  our 
feet  on  good  firm  ground  before  we  tackle  the  human 
problems.  You  know  I  am  against  paternalism, 
first  and  last.  I'm  willing  to  give  opportunity,  but 
nothing  else. " 

"That  is  all  they  need,  sir.  Some  must  be  shown 
opportunity  —  others  are  strong  enough  to  grip  it, 
but  it's  mighty  good  common  sense,  sir,  to  open  the 
eyes  of  the  blind  and  strengthen  the  feet  of  the  weak 
—  it's  what  you-all  did  for  me,  sir. " 

"Umph!"  Markham  exclaimed  and  then  got 
suddenly  up.  "I'm  going  to  take  a  stroll  down  The 
Way, "  he  said.  "Fix  things  here  in  an  hour  or  two 
and  see  if  you  can  get  some  kind  of  a  rig  for  a  drive 
this  afternoon.  I  want  Matilda  to  get  the  lay  of  the 
land  before  the  winter  sets  in. " 

And  then,  confused  by  mingled  emotions,  Mark- 
ham  bore  down  upon  Smith  Crothers  in  his  factory, 
a  mile  or  so  down  the  mountain,  and  attacked  that 
gentleman  in  such  a  blunt  and  utterly  unlooked-for 
manner  that  Crothers  was  startled  and  helpless. 


358  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

The  directness  of  the  blows  left  Smith  Crothers 
without  defence;  he  was  obliged  to  use  his  own  crude 
weapons  with  the  ever-growing  conviction  that  they 
were  worse  than  useless.  Markham  availed  himself 
of  no  propitiation  —  he  rushed  his  opponent  into 
the  open  at  the  first  onslaught,  and  thereafter  he 
attacked  him  fore  and  aft  mercilessly. 

"See  here,  Crothers,"  he  began,  when  the  head  of 
the  factory  had  invited  him  into  his  private  ofBce 
and,  with  smiles  and  bows,  had  seated  his  guest; 
"you  and  I  had  better  understand  each  other  right 
now.  You  know,  and  I  know  that  you  know,  that  I 
am  The  Company  up  North  which  you  are  maligning 
here  in  The  Hollow.  Now  I'm  willing  to  lay  down 
my  hand  and  show  my  cards.  I'm  going  to  back 
this  boy  of  Morley's  by  millions,  if  necessary,  and 
there  are  millions  to  count  on  —  not  millions  to  be 
made.  Why  I  am  doing  this  is  my  concern  —  all 
that  matters  is  —  I'm  going  to  do  it!  Maybe  it  is  a 
whim;  maybe  it  is  plain  tomfoolery;  every  man  has 
his  weak  side  —  I  have  mine.  That  factory  up  the 
hill  is  going  to  run  as  soon  as  it  is  finished;  the  Home- 
school  is  going  to  open  its  doors  likewise;  and  both 
institutions  are  going  to  pay  and  don't  you  forget  it! 
You  put  one  product  on  the  market;  I  another.  We 
won't  clash  there  —  the  rock  we  may  split  on  is  the 
labour  question. " 

Crothers  gasped  feebly. 

"  I  reckon  I  understand  conditions  here,  sir^  better 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  359 

than"  -he  longed  to  say  "any  damned  Yankee," 
but  he  controlled  the  impulse  —  "any  stranger  from 
the  North." 

"No  you  don't!"  Markham  flashed  back.  "Ex 
ploitation  isn't  any  fairer  here  than  where  I  come 
from.  Because  these  people  don't  realize  it  is  no 
excuse  for  men  like  you  and  me.  I  know  all  about 
what  you  set  forth  as  explanation  and  excuse  - 
it  goes  up  North  the  same  as  it  does  here.  Supply 
and  demand ;  business  is  business  and  all  the  rest  of  it, 
but  you  and  I  know  that  it  ought  not  go !  We  have 
no  right  to  take  it  out  of  the  people. " 

"You've  managed  to  take  out  your  pile" — Croth- 
ers'  smile  was  vanishing,' — "'cording  to  your  own 
telling.  Millions  ain't  got  by  magic,  these  times. " 

Markham  fixed  the  ugly  eyes  with  his  calm  gaze. 

"You  are  free  to  come  and  see  how  I  have  made 
my  money, "  he  said.  "  I  have  a  system  that  includes 
every  employee  in  my  money-getting.  They,  every 
mother's  son  of  them,  have  a  chance  with  me  to  better 
themselves.  I  have  never  worked  a  child  in  my 
mills  nor  a  woman  about  to  become  a  mother,  or  for 
months  after.  I  don't  talk  about  these  things  —  I 
live  them!  Now  I  mean  to  make  money  up  here  - 
honest  money;  my  just  share,  and  I'm  going  to  follow 
my  past  line  of  action.  I  find  it  pays.  Young 
Morley  knows  conditions  here,  and  I'm  going  to 
pay  him  a  big  salary  as  interpreter.  He's  a  high 
class  man.  Why,  good  God!  Crothers,  I  some- 


360  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

times  think  he  was  called  to  lead  his  people  out  of 
bondage. " 

Having  permitted  himself  this  flight  Markham 
struck  another  blow  that  completed  Crothers' 
dismay. 

"There  have  got  to  be  laws  protecting  these  moun 
tain  folks  from  themselves.  I'm  not  casting  reflec 
tions,  but  you  have  all  been  passed  by  in  the  general 
scuffle,  down  yonder,  and  some  one  has  got  to  sit  up 
and  take  notice.  There  should  be  child  labour  laws, 
educational  laws  and  sanitary  laws.  There  should  be 
appropriations  made  for  carrying  on  good  work  in  the 
mountains!"  The  light  of  Sandy's  torch  was  flaring 
well  ahead  of  Markham  and  he  was  following  eagerly. 

"  Such  men  as  you  ought  to  be  up  and  doing.  It's 
going  to  be  an  open  fight,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned, 
and  I  want  to  tell  you  now  that  so  long  as  there  is 
decent  and  clean  methods  used,  all  may  be  well,  but 
I'm  going  to  see  fair  play,  and  I  thought  it  was  only 
friendly  to  come  to  you  and  show  my  cards. " 

"Thank  you!"  Crothers  moistened  his  lips  and 
plunged  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "Is  this  a  threat, 
sir?" 

"No;  a  warning." 

"Well,  sir,  I  mean  to  do  business  along  my  own 
lines." 

"I  mean  to  do  the  same,  Crothers,  and  I'd  like  to 
add,  that  in  any  clash  please  remember  you  are  up 
against  me  —  not  Sandford  Morley." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  361 

"  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  that,  sir. " 

There  was  a  little  more  talk,  pro  and  con,  and  then 
the  two  men  parted  as  men  can  do,  after  a  heated 
and  vital  discussion,  apparently  on  the  best  of  terms. 

It  was  the  night  of  that  day  when,  before  the  fire 
in  the  little  sitting-room  devoted  to  the  Markhams' 
use,  Levi  sought  to  ease  his  sister's  mind  concerning 
Sandy. 

"The  boy  was  up  against  it  with  Crothers/'  he 
explained,  "and  making  no  outcry.  You  know 
Sandy's  way.  He  wouldn't  confide  in  us  about  that 
poor  little  sister  of  his  —  he  thought  it  wasn't  in  the 
bargain.  He  meant  to  fight  this  big  bully  in  his  own 
fashion  without  calling  on  me,  but  I've  taken  a  hand 
in  the  game  and  put  Crothers  wise  as  to  principles. 
I  may  have  to  get  a  few  knocks  before  I  am  done,  but 
Sandy  won't  be  the  buffer.  I  guess  the  boy  will 
pick  up  from  now  on.  He's  nervy  and  stronger  than 
he  looks." 

Matilda  sat  in  her  low,  broad  rocker.  Her  dress 
ing  gown  of  pale  violet  enshrouded  her  tiny  figure 
like  the  soft  petals  of  a  flower;  her  faded  eyes  and 
gentle  face  were  lowered,  and  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the 
burning  logs. 

"Brother,"  she  said  tenderly  and  wistfully;  "the 
boy  has  had  a  mortal  hurt.  This  evil  man  has  not 
dealt  it,  and  neither  you  nor  I  can  cure  it.  It  has  not 
killed  his  mind  and  spirit,  but  it's  killed  the  heart  of 
the  lad." 


362  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Levi  Markham  got  up  and  stood  with  his  back  to 
the  fire.  He  was  going  to  be  enlightened  —  he 
knew  that  —  but  in  man  fashion  he  pushed  the  in 
evitable  from  him. 

"Whim-whams,  'Tilda!  Now  what  do  you  mean 
in  plain  American  ?  Who's  given  the  boy  a  blow  — 
a  hurt,  or  whatever  you  fancy?" 

"It's  the  —  the  little  girl,  brother,  that  Lans  has 
run  away  with. " 

"Good  God,  Matilda!" 

"Levi,  I  do  wish  you  would  curb  your  language. 
You  know  how  I  dislike  profanity. " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  'Tilda." 

"While  you  have  been  sensing  business  conditions, 
brother,  I've  sensed  something  else.  I've  sort  of 
gathered  this  Cynthia  Walden  up  piece  by  piece. 
The  old  woman  who  works  here  gave  me  a  bit;  that 
dear  little  woman  doctor  —  the  aunt  of  the  girl  — 
has  told  me  some  of  the  story;  from  Martin  Morley 
I've  taken  a  mite.  Little  by  little  it  has  come  to 
me,  until  I've  patched  the  whole  together  and  I  can 
see  real  plain  and  clear,  now,  the  spirit  of  Lost  Hollow 
that  led  Sandy  out  and  up  and  then  —  escaped  to  a 
place  he  cannot  reach!  Oh!  brother,  when  one  is 
lonely  and  old  and  not  over  strong,  it  is  so  easy  to 
get  at  the  heart  of  a  thing  for  them  one  loves. " 

Matilda  was  crying  gently  into  her  dainty  little 
handkerchief,  and  Markham  stared  at  her,  speechless 
and  helpless. 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  363 

"There!  there!  'Tilda,"  was  all  he  could  think  to 
say,  but  his  tone  was  loving  beyond  description. 

"She's  the  girl  whose  face  haunted  that  picture  of 
the  dogwood  flowers,  brother.  She's  the  girl  he 
wrote  to  just  once,  you  remember,  that  time  when 
we  stopped  in  New  York  on  our  way  from  here  to 
Bretherton.  I  guess  she's  called  and  called  to  him 
from  these  hills  ever  since  he  left,  and  now 

"Well,  'Tilda?" 

"She's  gone  away  and  the  call  is  —  stilled." 

Markham  sat  down  again  before  the  fire  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  Quietly  the  old  brother 
and  sister  sat  for  a  full  half  hour,  then  Levi  got  up. 

"Good-night,  sister,"  he  said. 

"Good-night,  brother." 

That  was  all.  They  knew  that  they  were  unable 
to  reach  the  hurt  that  Sandy  had  received. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BUT  Matilda  Markham  could  not  sit  down 
under  her  weight  of  conviction  in  protracted 
silence.  The  winter  at  last  gripped  The 
Hollow,  and  doors  and  windows  were  closed  against 
the  cold  and  storm.  Markham,  Martin,  and  Sandy 
were  always  away  together  much  of  the  day,  but 
Matilda  sat  by  her  fire,  chatted  a  little  with  Sally, 
revelled  in  Marcia  Lowe's  frequent  calls,  and  man 
aged  to  weave  a  tender  story  from  all  she  heard. 
She  knitted  her  endless  rainbow  scarfs  and  gave 
them  to  the  mountain  women  who  received  them  in 
stolid  amazement  and  doted  upon  them  in  secret. 
Once  Matilda  did  a  very  daring  and  tremendous 
thing.  She  wrote  to  Olive  Treadwell  and  asked  some 
pointed  and  vital  questions  about  Lansing's  wife! 

Having  sent  the  letter  away  impulsively,  the  poor 
little  lady  had  a  week  of  real  torture.  Daily  she 
walked  to  the  post-office,  when  no  one  was  watching, 
and  caused  Tod  Greeley  much  amusement  by  her 
nervous  anxiety. 

"Meaning  no  offence,"  he  confided  to  Marcia 
Lowe,  "and  respecting  her  age  and  gray  hairs,  I 
reckon  the  old  miss  is  in  love.  It  comes  late  to  some 

361 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  365 

folks,"  he  sighed  pathetically,  "and  it  comes  right 
hard  when  it  strikes  past  the  time  limit,  but  nothing 
but  love  takes  it  out  of  folks  like  what  this  old  miss  is 
suffering." 

At  last  the  answer  came  and  Matilda  read  it  with 
the  door  of  her  bedroom  bolted  and  the  washstand 
barricading  it  as  well. 

Olive  Tread  well  wrote: 

I'm  mighty  glad  to  say  something  about  this  affair  to  some 
one  who  can  understand  me.  Imagine  my  feelings  when,  out 
of  the  blue,  as  one  might  say,  Lans  brought  this  girl  home  and 
said,  "I'm  going  to  leave  her  with  you,  Aunt  Olive,  until  I  can 
see  my  way  clear.  I  am  brother  to  her  and  she  is  sister  to  me 
until  —  the  way's  made  plain."  That  was  all  and  then  Lans 
betook  himself  to  his  old  quarters  and  began  to  work.  He's 
taken  a  position  on  the  Boston  Beacon  and  calls,  actually  calls, 
on  his  wife  evenings  or  takes  her  and  me  out  to  theatres  and 
dinners.  I'm  supposed  to  be  training  this  young  woman,  for 
what,  heaven  only  knows!  but  I  have  my  hands  full.  Lans  was 
always  erratic  and  poetic,  but  this  is  beyond  my  comprehension. 
He  has  had  affairs  of  the  heart,  of  course,  but  this  is  different. 
The  girl  is  the  strangest  creature  I  ever  saw;  she  is  uncanny. 
After  I  got  her  into  proper  clothing  I  saw  she  had  beauty  and 
charm  of  a  certain  kind.  She  takes  to  ways  and  expressions 
mighty  quick,  and  she  is  the  sweet  appealing  kind  that  attracts 
even  while  one  disapproves.  I  confess  I  am  utterly  dumb 
founded  and  if  you  can  throw  any  light  on  this  matter,  pray  do 
so.  The  girl  seems  to  me  to  be  half  here  and  half  somewhere  else; 
she  isn't  unhappy,  and  she  seems  to  adore  Lans  in  a  detached 
and  pretty  childish  way,  but  why  did  he  marry  her  and  why 
should  he,  having  married  her,  regard  her  in  this  platonic 
fashion? 

Of  course  Matilda  could  not  answer  these  ques- 


366  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

tions  but  she  cried  over  the  letter  a  great  deal  and 
brooded  over  Sandy  with  all  the  motherhood  that 
nature  had  not  legitimately  utilized.  And  then,  one 
night,  Sandy  came  to  her  quite  simply  and  directly 
and  claimed,  in  his  great  suffering  need,  what  she 
alone  had  to  give. 

It  was  the  week  before  Christmas.  The  cabin 
was  gay  and  festive,  for  Marcia  Lowe,  in  a  lavishness 
of  good  cheer,  had  decorated  everything  she  could 
command  beginning  with  the  little  chapel  and  ending 
with  the  post-office.  The  County  Club  sat  now 
'neath  an  arbour  of  greens,  and  the  lowliest  cabin 
had  its  spray  of  pine  or  holly. 

Martin  and  Levi  were  bent  over  a  backgammon 
board  in  Sandy's  study.  Markham  had  undertaken 
to  correct  Morley's  neglected  education  as  to  games; 
and  Martin  had,  after  the  first  week,  so  outstripped 
his  instructor  that  Levi  was  put  upon  his  mettle 
and  every  victory  he  wrenched  now  from  Martin 
gave  him  a  glow  of  pride  he  was  not  slow  to  exhibit. 
Seeing  the  two  men  engrossed,  Sandy  stole  to  Ma 
tilda  Markham's  little  sitting-room  and  there  found 
the  dear  lady  asleep  before  the  fire,  her  thin  white 
hands  sunk  in  a  mass  of  beautiful  wools.  He  stood 
and  looked  at  the  quiet,  peaceful  old  face;  he  recalled, 
one  by  one,  her  kindnesses  to  him,  her  growing  pride 
and  love  for  him,  and  presently  his  eyes  grew  misty. 
The  frail  creature  before  him  became  touched  by 
the  magic  of  his  gratitude  and  need,  the  most  vital 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  367 

and  mighty  factor  in  his  life.  She,  in  this  hour  of 
his  hidden  craving,  was  the  only  one  to  whom  he 
could  turn,  and  right  well  he  knew  that  she  would 
stand  by  him. 

Suddenly  Matilda  Markham  opened  her  eyes  and 
looked  directly  into  Sandy's.  It  may  have  been  that 
some  dream  had  prepared  her,  God  may  have  spoken 
to  her  in  vision;  however  that  may  be  she  said  gently: 

"Son,  you  need  me?     Come,  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Quite  naturally  Sandy  sat  down  at  her  feet  and 
looked  frankly  into  the  dear,  old  face. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  a  great  thing  for  me, " 
he  said;  "I  must  ask  you  to  do  it  without  my  ex 
plaining  things  to  you  to  any  extent  —  I  want  you 
to  do  it  as  a  mother  might  for  her  son  —  trusting  me 
if  you  can. " 

"Dear  boy,  I  think  I  can  promise  to  do  what  you 
ask." 

Then  the  thin  hands  found  their  way  to  the  bent 
head,  and  as  they  touched  the  thick,  dark  hair  a 
thrill  shot  to  the  woman's  very  heart. 

"Mother!"  Sandy  seemed  inspired  to  meet  her 
soul's  longing.  "Mother!" 

"  Son,  go  on.     I  am  waiting. " 

"It  —  it  is  about  the  girl  —  Lansing  Tread- 
well  married. " 

"Yes." 

"I  must  know  how  things  are  with  her.  Our 
mountain  people  can  be  so  lonely  and  homesick 


368  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

away  from  the  hills.  At  times  nothing,  nothing  can 
take  the  place  of  the  yearning.  I  —  I  can  forget 
everything  that  has  even  been,  if  I  know  she  is  right 
happy  and  content  —  but  I  must  know!" 

A  fierceness  struck  through  the  low-spoken  words. 
"The  doubt  is  —  is  killing  me." 

"Shall  I  go  now,  son,  or  wait  until  after  the  holi 
days?" 

"Could  you  go  now  —  and  alone?" 

"I  can  manage  Levi,  son.  Travelling  is  real  easy 
these  days.  It  will  take  management,  but  I  can  get 
what  I  want." 

"You  would  understand  if  you  saw  her." 

Sandy's  voice  trailed  off  forgetful  of  the  woman  at 
whose  knees  he  knelt. 

"She  can  smile  and  make  right  merry,  but  you 
would  know  and  understand.  She  is  such  a  pretty, 
sweet  thing,  but  she  has  the  iron  of  the  hills  in 
her.  She  must"  —  again  Sandy's  voice  shook  with 
passion,  —  "she  must  have  happiness!  If  —  if  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  the  city  have  distracted  her 
she  must  come  back  to  the  mountains.  Lans  will 
agree  to  this  —  I  do  not  doubt  him!  She  must  not 
• —  kill  herself  —  you  will  know  when  you  see  her. 
You  must  come  back  and  tell  me  —  you  will?" 

"I  will,  son." 

Matilda  yearned  to  show  him  Olive  Treadwell's 
letter,  but  something  kept  her  from  doing  it.  She 
wanted  to  do  what  she  could  for  Sandy  in  her  own 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  369 

way,  and  suddenly  she  felt  herself  a  giant  of  strength 
and  purpose. 

"Travel  alone!"  she  said  to  Levi  later  when  she 
had  cowed  the  poor  man  by  her  determination  and 
exactions,  "of  course  I  can  travel  alone.  Am  I  an 
idiot,  Levi,  or  a  fool?  Haven't  I  a  good  American 
tongue  to  ask  questions  with?  I  remember  our 
mother  once  told  us  she  would  spank  us  well  if  we 
ever  got  lost  in  a  place  where  folks  talked  the  same 
language  we  did.  You  put  me  on  the  train  at  The 
Forge  with  a  through  seat  in  a  Pullman,  telegraph 
to  Mary  Jane  to  meet  me  in  New  York,  and  I  guess 
I  can  manage." 

"  But,  'Tilda,  what  on  earth  has  seized  you  to  act 
so  uncertain  in  the  middle  of  this  visit?  What  will 
they  think  of  you  and  me  ? " 

Then  Matilda  made  her  master  stroke  and,  by 
virtue  of  her  sex-privilege,  completed  her  triumph 
over  her  brother. 

"Levi,"  she  said  —  she  was  standing  before  him, 
her  thin  hands  on  his  shoulders  —  "I  ain't  ever  had 
what  you  might  call  a  real  fling  where  my  emotions 
and  sentiments  were  concerned.  Let  go  of  me,  just 
this  once,  and  trust  me!  I've  always  been  sort  of 
held  back.  First  it  was  father  and  mother;  then 
Caroline,  and  lastly  you !  I  ain't  never  done  exactly 
what  I  wanted  to  do  without  explaining,  and  now  I 
want  to  be  left  free  even  if  I  die  for  it!" 

"Well,  well!"  blurted  Levi,  but  he  caught  the 


370  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

idea.  "I  guess  women  do  have  a  sense  of  the  tight 
rein  now  and  then;  it  may  lie  loose  mostly,  but  it 
never  is  quite  laid  off.  'Tilda,  you  may  cut  and  run 
now,  for  all  of  me.  I'll  see  to  what,  you  may  say, 
are  your  animal  comforts  —  parlour  car  seats, 
tickets,  and  some  one  waiting  for  you  in  town,  but 
you  kick  the  heels  of  your  inclinations  good  and 
high  for  once  and  I  bet  you  and  me  will  run  the  rest 
of  the  race  together  better,  forever  after.  Whoop  it 
up,  'Tilda,  and  remember  money  needn't  be  a  hold 
back-  You've  got  a  big,  fat  slice  coming  to  you, 
old  girl." 

Now  that  Lev!  had  dropped  the  reins,  the  spirit 
of  adventure  possessed  him.  He  and  Sandy  saw 
Matilda  off  on  her  journey  three  days  later,  in  high 
spirits. 

"I  tell  you,  boy,"  he  confided  on  the  way  back  to 
the  cabin,  "it's  a  mighty  good  sign  when  a  woman 
wants  to  jump  the  traces,  and  a  good  man  isn't 
going  to  lick  her  into  submission  for  doing  it.  The 
chances  are  a  woman  wouldn't  take  to  kicking  if  the 
traces  didn't  chafe.  I've  meant  to  be  kind  to 
Matilda,  but  kindness  can  be  chafing  at  times.  A 
woman  like  Matilda,  a  little,  self-sacrificing  woman, 
is  real  enlightening  if  you  pay  attention. " 

Matilda  seemed  to  develop  and  expand  during 
that  trip  North.  She  ordered  her  meals  with  an 
abandon  that  electrified  the  waiters  on  the  train, 
and  then  her  sense  of  economy  demanded  that  she 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  371 

should  eat  what  she  had  ordered.  Her  tips  were 
dazzling  and  erratic,  but  they,  and  her  quaint  per 
sonality,  won  for  her  great  comfort  and  care.  She 
was  in  better  condition,  physically,  than  she  had 
been  for  many  a  day  when,  one  golden  winter  after 
noon,  she  stood  in  Olive  Treadwell's  drawing-room 
in  Boston  and  waited  for  Cynthia.  Mrs.  Treadwell 
was  out,  but  the  "young  lady, "  the  maid  said,  was  in. 

"How  very  fortunate,"  thought  Matilda  and  then 
took  her  rigid  stand  across  the  room.  Unconsciously 
she  was  waiting  to  see  what  Lansing  Treadwell  had 
done  to  this  girl  of  the  hills  whom  he  had  so  ruthlessly 
and  breath-takingly  borne  away.  Lans  was,  un 
knowingly,  before  the  most  awful  bar  of  judgment 
he  had  ever  stood  —  the  bar  of  pure  womanhood ! 

There  was  a  step  upon  the  stairs;  a  quick,  yet  fal 
tering  step,  and  then  Cynthia  entered  the  room  and 
came  toward  Matilda  Markham  with  deep,  question 
ing  eyes  and  slow  smile.  The  impression  the  girl 
made  was  to  last  the  rest  of  Matilda's  life.  Once, 
years  before,  Matilda  had  seen  a  rare  and  lovely 
butterfly  caught  in  the  meshes  of  a  net,  and,  oddly 
enough,  the  memory  came  to  her  now  as  she  looked 
at  the  sweet,  starry-eyed  creature  advancing.  She 
was  as  surely  caught  in  an  invisible  net  of  some  kind 
as  the  long-ago  butterfly  had  been.  Matilda  Mark- 
ham  noted  the  conventional  gown  of  dull  blue  with 
silver  trimming;* the  little  slippers  to  match,  and  the 
silken  stockings;  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  string  of 


372  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

small  silver  beads  wound  around  the  slim  throat;  all, 
all  were  but  part  of  the  mesh  that  caught  and  held 
the  spirit  that  had  ceased  to  struggle. 

How  lovely  she  was,  this  Cynthia  of  Lost  Hol 
low,  in  spite  of  the  crude  conventions!  The  frank, 
waiting  eyes  were  as  gray-blue  as  her  mountain  skies; 
the  lips,  half-parted,  had  not  forgotten  to  smile  above 
the  hurt  and  pain  of  her  tiring  days  and  homesick 
nights;  the  smooth  braids  of  shining  hair  bound  the 
lifted  head  just  as  dear  Madam  Bubble  had  designed 
them  on  the  morning  when  the  portrait  of  "The 
Biggest  of  Them  All"  was  hung  in  the  Significant 
Room. 

"You  —  wanted  to  see  —  me?" 

The  drawl  had  become  sacred  to  Matilda's  ears. 

"Yes,  my  child.  I  have  come  from  your  old 
home  just  to  see  —  you. " 

A  faint  colour  stole  into  the  whiteness  of  the 
fair  face. 

"From  Lost  Mountain?"  Oh!  if  Sandy  could 
have  heard  her  say  that  word  how  it  would  have 
rested  his  soul!  "From  Lost  Mountain?" 

"Ye$,  my  dear.     Come  and  sit  here  beside  me." 

Matilda  could  not  stand  longer.  Her  knees  shook 
banrath  her  for,  like  a  blinding  light,  the  knowledge 
came  to  her  that  poor  Lans,  with  all  his  faults,  was 
exonerated  from  any  wrong  to  this  young  girl!  The 
innocent  old  eyes  and  the  radiant  young  ones  had  no 
veil  between  them.  Sitting  side  by  side  they  smiled 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  373 

bravely  at  each  other  and  then  Cynthia  reached  out 
her  hands. 

"You  are" —  she  whispered  — "you  are  Sandy 
Morley's  fairy  godmother!  Oh!  I  know  all  about 
you.  Lans  has  told  me.  I  am  right  glad  —  oh! 
mighty  glad  to  see  you!" 

The  voice  shook  with  emotion  and  Matilda  Mark- 
ham  could  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Never  in  her 
life  had  she  been  so  moved.  She  longed  to  take  this 
girl  to  her  heart  and  hold  her  there,  but  instead  she 
found  herself,  presently,  telling  the  homely  news  of 
the  hills  to  the  hungry  soul  whose  yearning  eyes 
never  fell  from  her  face. 

"And  the  little  doctor  is  my  own  aunt,  you  know?" 

"  Yes,  child.     They  told  me  all  about  it. " 

"It's  right  good  to  have  one's  own  —  at  last;" 
this  was  plaintively  whispered;  "and  my  dear,  dear 
father.  You  know  his  story,  too  ?" 

"Yes.  It  lives  in  the  hills  and  speaks  for  him  even 
to-day." 

"They-all  say  I'm  like  my  father." 

"I  am  sure  you  must  be.  You  are  like  Miss  Lowe, 
and  I  guess  one  can  always  tell  which  parent  a  boy 
or  girl  is  like.  I  guess  Sandy,  now,  is  like  his 
mother.  He  doesn't  favour  his  father. " 

"Yes.  I  reckon  Sandy  must  be  like  his  mother. 
I  had  never  thought  of  that  before. " 

Cynthia's  eyes  were  fixed  and  dreamy. 

"And  you,  child,  are  you  happy  and  content?" 


374  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

—  the  words  of  Sandy  were  the  only  ones  possible  — 
"I  must  tell  them  all  about  you  when  I  go  back." 

"You  are  —  going  back?"  the  yearning  was  un 
mistakable  -  "I  thought,  maybe,  you  were  going 
to  stay  here  —  I'd  be  mighty  glad  to  have  you  near." 

"I'm  coming  home,  to  my  own  home  a  little  later. 
I'll  see  you  often  then. " 

Slowly  they  were  advancing  and  retreating,  this 
woman  and  girl,  but  each  venture  brought  them  a 
little  nearer.  Like  the  incoming  waters  of  a  rising 
tide  a  slight  gain  was  made,  moment  by  moment. 
Then  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  a  rushing  current 
bore  them  to  the  high  mark. 

"You  poor,  homesick  child!  Come  cry  it  out  and 
have  done  with  it!" 

It  was  not  like  Matilda  Markham  to  so  assert  her 
self;  it  was  not  like  the  dear,  brave  Madam  Bubble 
to  succumb  as  she  now  did;  but,  in  another  instant 
she  was  kneeling  where  Sandy  had  knelt  a  few  nights 
before,  and  clinging  to  the  dear  hands  which  had, 
then,  rested  upon  his  bowed  head. 

The  wall  of  suppression  that  Cynthia  had  raised, 
during  the  past  weeks,  between  her  mountain  life 
and  this  artificial  one  of  the  city,  crumbled  at  the 
message  from  the  hills.  Her  part  in  the  strange 
drama  sank  to  insignificance,  and  in  her  weakness  she 
was  able  to  view  it  clearly  and  dispassionately  with 
this  plain  little  woman  who  had  come  to  serve  her. 

"I   did   not   understand,"    she   sobbed;    "I   was 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  375 

tired  —  there  had  been  the  night  in  the  storm,  you 
know.  I  did  not  want  to  make  trouble  and  —  oh ! 
how  can  I  tell  you,  but  it  was  only  when  the  little 
doctor  —  my  aunt  —  explained  everything  that  I 
saw  myself  standing  alone  in  the  confusion  with 
something  I  must  say  and  do!  I  couldn't  let  them 
do  my  work  for  me,  dear  lady,"  — the  quaint  ex 
pression  caused  Matilda  Markham  to  draw  in  her 
breath  sharply  —  "I  was  no  longer  a  child  and  I  had 
to  bear  my  part.  When  we-all  stood  in  Sandy's 
cabin  and  the  truth  came  to  us-all,  at  once,  I  reckon 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  realized  I  was  a  woman. 
I  couldn't  take  my  chance  and  leave  Lans  out. 
They-all  wanted  to  save  me  from  myself,  but  they 
forgot  him  and  then  when  he  said"  —  the  girl 
gasped  —  "that  he  wanted  me  —  I  had  to  go!  I  did 
not  go  because  any  one  compelled  me  —  I  just  had 
to  go!  I  was  led  like  when  I  married  Lans.  More  and 
more  I  see  it  now;  I  feel  it  in  the  night.  It  did  not 
happen,  dear  lady;  it  all  leads  up  to  something  God 
wants  me  to  do;  something  no  one  can  do  as  well  as  I. 
Sandy  had  his  call  —  you  know  how  he  responded? 
Well,  I  have  my  leading.  We-all,  of  the  hills,  get  near 
God,  dear  lady.  We  are  lonelier;  we  need  Him  more 
and  He  speaks  more  plainly  to  us,  I  reckon." 

The  superstition  and  mysticism  of  Lost  Hollow 
held  every  thought  and  fancy  of  this  girl,  but  Ma 
tilda  Markham  realized  that  they  gave  her  strength 
and  purpose  as  they  had  poor  Sandy  before  her. 


376  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Oh!  my  dear,  my  dear!"  was  all  she  could  say, 
but  she  freed  one  of  her  cool  hands  from  Cynthia's 
hot  one,  and  laid  it  like  a  benediction  on  the  girlish 
head. 

"I  am  waiting,  dear  lady,  for  the  thing  I  am  to  do, 
and  Lans  is  mighty  kind.  He  is  my  big  brother 
and  I  am  his  little  sister  —  until  I  can  read  my  way 
plain.  You  did  not  know  he  was  so  good  ? " 

"I  thank  God  that  he  is!"  breathed  Matilda 
Markham  devoutly. 

"I  wish  I  could  make  —  Mrs.  Treadwell  under 
stand.  She  —  laughs ! " 

Matilda  felt  her  ire  rise.  The  laugh  of  Olive 
Treadwell  could  be  brutal  and  cruel  in  its  sweetest 
ripple! 

"  It  seems  right  long  and  wearying  waiting,  waiting 
for  the  meaning. " 

Cynthia's  slow  words  flowed  on.  She  had  ceased 
crying  and  was  looking  up  now  with  brave,  clear 
eyes,  "and  part  of  me  is  there  —  in  Lost  Hollow. 
That  part  of  me  comes  to  comfort  this  part  of  me  — 
can  you  understand,  dear  lady?" 

Matilda  nodded.     She  did,  indeed,  understand. 

"And  that  part  of  me  makes  this  part  of  me  — 
stay  here!  After  that  mighty  hurry  and  trouble 
when  Lans  and  I  came  away  alone  I  was  right 
frightened.  There  was  just  once  —  while  we  stayed 
a  few  hours  in  New  York  that  I  —  that  something 
happened.  I  was  in  a  room,  Lans  had  gone  out 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  377 

to  order  luncheon  and  I  felt  I  had  to  run  away! 
I  stood  with  my  back  against  the  wall  when  he  came 
in  and  I  reckon  I  was  wild,  for  he  came  close  and 
took  my  hands  this-er-way  • —  Cynthia  was 

acting  the  vivid  scene  standing  now  before  Matilda 
Markham  and  holding  her  hands  --"and  he  said 
slow  and  firm,  'HI'  girl,  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you. 
You  and  Sandy  Morley  are  not  going  to  see  me  fail!' 
And  then  that  part  of  me  that  lives  always  in  Lost 
Hollow  went  back  mighty  safe  and  strong.  I  haven't 
been  afraid,  dear  lady,  since." 

Then  it  was  that  Miss  Markham  arose  and  realized 
her  strength  to  its  full  extent. 

"Child,"  she  said,  "I've  changed  my  mind  about 
going  back  to  Lost  Hollow  to-morrow.  I'm  going 
to  Bretherton  and  that  is  only  a  half  hour  by  rail 
from  here.  I  want  you  to  come  to  me,  there.  I 
must  see  you  again.  I'll  explain  to  Mrs.  Treadwell 
and  Lans.  I  declare  I  haven't  felt  so  like  my  old 
self  for  years  and  years. " 

"Oh!  dear  lady!"  Cynthia's  shining  eyes  were 
large  and  happy;  "dear  lady!  you  mean  you  will  let 
me  see  you  in  your  own  home?" 

"I  mean  —  just  that." 

"Oh!  Oh!  why  sometimes  I  think  that  soon  God 
will  say,  'HI'  girl,  your  task  is  done.  Run  back  home 
now!  Run  back  to  your  hills.'  Maybe  I  can  go  back 
with  you!" 

A  gayety  rang  in  the  sweet  voice  that  almost  re- 


378  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

duced  Matilda  to  tears.  The  abandon  and  incon 
sequence  were  so  oddly  mingled  with  the  strange 
determined  strength  that  the  elderly  woman  was 
confused  and  irrational. 

The  wayward,  wild  creature  of  the  hills,  ensnared 
in  the  net  woven  by  Lans's  blind  passion  and 
irresponsibility,  seemed  so  incapable  of  fulfilling  any 
role  that  demanded  the  recognition  of  her  as  a  wife 
in  this  superficial  environment  that  Matilda  felt 
immoral  and  sacrilegious.  She  wanted  to  say,  in 
stead  of  leaving  it  to  a  higher  power,  "Your  task  is 
done,  lil'  girl!  Run  back  to  your  hills!"  but  instead 
she  said  brokenly: 

"You  will  come  to  Bretherton?" 

"Indeed,  yes;  dear  lady!" 

"Perhaps  you  will  go  out  with  me  to-morrow  if  I 
stay  over  night  in  town  ? " 

"If  —  oh!  if  they  will  let  me.  But  you  see,  there 
are  a  mighty  lot  of  things  to  do  —  I'm  learning!" 

"Good-bye  then,  dear  child." 

And  that  night,  on  the  paper  of  a  quiet  little  hotel, 
Matilda  wrote  a  brief  note  to  Lost  Hollow.  She 
addressed  it  to  Levi. 

I'm  going  to  stay  on  a  spell.  I  never  felt  better  in  my  life. 
It  was  the  thinking  that  life  didn't  need  me  any  more,  that  was 
running  me  down.  It's  awful  foolish  for  old  folks  to  let  go  of 
things.  By  the  way,  I  called  at  Olive  Treadwell's  to-day  and 
and  saw  Lans's  wife.  She's  real  fascinating  and  real  good  look 
ing.  Brother,  I  want  you  to  reconsider  about  leaving  Lans  out 
of  your  will.  He's  coming  out  real  strong  and  blood  is  blood! 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  379 

Tell  Sandy  this  girl,  Cynthia,  sends  kind  regards  and  is  enjoy 
ing  her  stay  in  Boston  better  than  she  expected. 

This  letter  had  a  marvellous  effect  upon  Levi  and 
Sandy. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?"  Levi  exclaimed 
shaking  with  laughter.  "If  that  ain't  spunk  and 
real  grit." 

Sandy  was  looking  out  of  the  study  window  and 
did  not  reply. 

"That's  the  old  New  England  spirit.  Never  say 
die  and  all  the  rest!"  Levi  chuckled. 

"Thank  God  for  it!"  was  all  Sandy  said  in  return. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  work  God  had  sent  Cynthia  to  do  came 
to  hand  very  shortly  after  Miss  Markham's 
return  to  Bretherton.  Cynthia  had  spent 
one  blessed  day  at  the  quiet  old  farm,  then  Mrs. 
Treadwell  and  she  went  down  together  and  stayed 
over  one  night,  and  once  Lans  ran  down  and  had  an 
hour's  talk  with  his  Aunt  'Tilda  before  she  slipped 
back  to  Lost  Hollow  and  Cynthia's  task  came  for  her 
doing. 

Lans's  visit  had  sent  Matilda  to  her  knees  beside 
the  four-post  bedstead  in  the  room  that  had  once 
been  Caroline  Markham's. 

"Caroline,"  the  trembling  old  lips  had  breathed, 
"it  was  your  boy  who  came  home  to-day.  Your 
boy!" 

For  Lans  quite  frankly  and  naturally  had  told  his 
story.  The  hot  blood  of  the  South  was  well  in  com 
mand  and  the  light  of  reason  was  in  the  sorry  eyes. 

"Aunt  'Tilda,  all  my  life  I've  been  excused  and 
forgiven  for  my  faults  —  bat  I'm  going  to  work  my 
way  out  now,  God  helping  me!  I'm  going  to  take 
whatever  punishment  and  joy  comes.  Up  there  in 
the  hills  I  was  like  a  devil  caged.  I  had  passed 

380 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  381 

through  a  trouble  and  been  worsted;  I  saw  Morley 
standing  where  I  should  have  stood,  had  I  been  less  a 
fool  years  ago.  I  couldn't  seem  to  see,  up  there,  how 
he  deserved  all  that  was  his.  I  was  just  maddened. 
I  wanted  to  get  on  top  and  —  I  let  go  myself!  Cyn 
thia  seemed  a  child  at  first  but  all  of  a  sudden  she 
flashed  upon  all  that  was  evil  in  me  —  and  I  went 
blindly  ahead  until  I  stood  among  them  all  in  Mor- 
ley's  cabin.  They  all  seemed  so  big  and  fine  and  true 
and  I  saw  —  myself!  All  at  once  I  found  myself 
wanting  more  than  I  had  ever  wanted  anything  in  my 
life  —  to  make  good !  I  took  my  own  way.  Some  day 
you  will  all  understand.  That  little  girl  is  going  to 
have  her  choice  by  and  by  —  I  only  wanted  my  fair 
chance  to  win  out.  When  she  makes  her  choice  her 
soul  will  be  hers  —  I  promised  Sandy  Morley  that!" 

It  was  this  that  had  sent  Matilda  to  her  knees 
beside  the  bed  of  Lans's  mother. 

And  one  evening  —  it  was  two  days  before  Christ 
mas,  Lans  took  Cynthia  and  his  Aunt  Olive  Tread- 
well  to  a  theatre  in  Boston.  The  play  was  a  popular 
one  and,  being  late,  Lans  was  obliged  to  take  a  box 
in  order  to  get  seats.  Cynthia  felt  and  looked  like  a 
child.  The  excitement  and  brilliancy  brought  colour 
to  her  cheeks  and  made  her  eyes  dance.  She  hardly 
spoke  and  only  now  and  then  heard  what  her  com 
panions  said. 

"Lans,"  Olive  Treadwell  said  during  the  first  act, 
"there  is  Marian  Spaulding  in  the  tenth  row!" 


382  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

This  did  not  interest  Cynthia  but  Lans's  sharp 
start  did.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him  and  then 
followed  his  eyes.  A  pale,  slim  woman  in  black  was 
looking  at  them  from  the  orchestra  seats.  The 
expression  on  the  thin  face  remained  in  Cynthia's 
memory  even  when  the  scenes  of  the  enthralling  play 
drove  it,  for  the  time  being,  into  shadow. 

"Blue  is  Cynthia's  colour,"  Mrs.  Treadwell  next 
remarked  apropos  of  nothing.  "She's  right  hand 
some,  Lans.  You  ought  to  be  less  a  fool  and  be 
have  normally.  She'd  make  a  mighty  sensation 

if "  But  this  did  not  interest  the  absorbed 

third  party  in  the  box  at  all. 

When  the  play  was  over  and  the  audience  was 
crowding  into  the  lobby,  Cynthia  noticed  the  girl 
of  the  tenth  row  near  them.  She  was  not  looking  at 
them,  but  she  gave  the  impression  of  listening  to 
what  they  said.  Again  the  face  claimed  Cynthia's 
attention. 

"Brother,"  she  said  softly  to  Lans,  "is  that  a 
friend  of  yours  ?  She  looks  mighty  sad. " 

Lans  gave  another  sharp  start  and  rather  abruptly 
replied: 

"I  knew  her  once.  Come,  little  sister,  that  is  our 
number  being  called.  We  must  not  hold  up  the  line 
of  taxis.  Aunt  Olive  is  out  of  sight. " 

Strangely  enough  Cynthia  did  not  dream  of  the 
play  that  night;  nor  did  the  sad,  fair  face  of  Lans's 
one-time  friend  hold  part  in  her  visions,  but  she  did 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  383 

dream  of  Lost  Mountain  as  she  had  not  dreamed  of 
it  in  many  a  night.  She  was  back  among  the  dear, 
plain  home  scenes.  She  was  planning  with  Sandy 
the  Home-school;  she  was  in  the  cabin  at  Trouble 
Neck  with  the  little  doctor.  The  sun  was  shining  in 
the  broad,  opened  door  and  she  and  Marcia  Lowe 
were  sitting  where  the  warm  brightness  flooded  them. 
And  at  that  juncture  of  the  dream  something  very 
vivid  occurred.  Quite  distinctly  she  heard  the 
little  doctor  say: 

"In  all  the  world  there  is  nothing  so  important  as 
this,  Cyn.  Remember  it  as  long  as  you  live." 

Upon  awakening,  Cynthia,  in  her  still,  dark  room, 
found  herself  haunted  by  the  dream  and  the  little 
doctor's  words.  They  were  startling,  yet  strangely 
familiar.  When,  before,  had  Marcia  Lowe  spoken 
them;  what  had  she  meant?  Then  suddenly  it  came 
back  to  Cynthia.  It  was  about  little  children! 

"Our  loves  and  our  poor  selves!"  Marcia  Lowe  had 
often  said,  and  especially  when  she  and  Cynthia  were 
working  over  the  little  ones  of  the  hill  cabins,  "what 
do  they  matter  compared  to  the  sacred  lives  of  these 
helpless  creatures?" 

She  had  been  quite  fierce  about  it  once  when  she 
had  told  Liza  Hope  that  God  would  hold  her  respon 
sible  if  she  brought  any  more  blighted  souls  into  ex 
istence  through  Mason's  passion  and  her  own  weak 
yielding. 

Lying  awake  and  trembling  in  the  small  room  off 


384  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

of  Olive  TreadwelPs,  Marcia  Lowe's  words  returned 
with  sharp  insistence  and  kept  Cynthia  wakeful 
for  many  an  hour. 

The  next  morning  she  was  alone  when  the  maid 
came  to  her  and  said  a  lady  wanted  to  see  her  on  very 
important  business  and  had  asked  that  they  might 
be  undisturbed  for  a  half  hour.  Cynthia,  puzzled 
and  half  afraid,  bade  the  girl  bring  the  caller  to  the 
sitting-room  in  which  she  then  was. 

What  followed  was  so  vital  and  impressive  that  all 
her  life  Cynthia  was  to  recall  the  setting  of  the 
scene.  The  whiteness  of  the  sunlight  streaming  into 
the  east  windows,  the  deep  red  of  the  wall  paper,  the 
tick  of  the  marble  clock  on  the  shelf,  and  the  crackle 
of  the  cannel  coal  fire  on  the  hearth.  While  she 
waited  for  the  visitor  she  was  unconsciously  prepar 
ing  for  the  part  and  the  lines  of  what  was  to  follow. 
By  the  time  the  slow,  light  steps  were  at  the  room 
door,  Cynthia  seemed  to  know  who  the  stranger  was. 
The  maid  closed  the  door  after  the  guest  and  then 
Cynthia  said  quietly  to  the  tall,  black-robed  girl: 

"You  — •  are  —  Marian  Spaulding!" 

"He  — he  has  told  you?" 

"No.  Mrs.  Treadwell  —  told  me!  Please  sit 
down. " 

They  faced  each  other  with  only  a  few  feet  be 
tween  them.  Cynthia  was  obsessed  with  but  one 
conscious  thought  —  she  must  go  on  as  she  was  led; 
say  what  she  would  be  told  to  say.  She  could  not 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  385 

think  for  herself.  But  the  stranger  —  distracted 
and  ill  at  ease,  leaped  at  conclusions;  hurried  to  her 
goal  and  took  no  heed  of  the  obstacles  in  her  path. 

"I  did  not  know  until  last  night  that  he  —  that 
Lans  had  a  sister,"  she  said.  "Our  own  affairs 
were  so  engrossing  and  —  and  exclusive  —  at  that 
time!" 

Marian  Spaulding  had  an  odd  habit  of  spacing  her 
words  as  if  the  sharp  breaths  in  between  were  dashes 
to  emphasize  her  thought.  "I  knew  Mrs.  Treadwell 
was  aware  of  —  of  our  arrangement  —  I  knew,  from 
Lans,  that  she  was  broad  minded  and  generous  but 
when  I  saw  you  two  together  last  night  —  I  — 
I  wanted  to  come  to  you  instead  of  to  her!" 

An  overpowering  excitement  in  the  speaker  began 
to  affect  Cynthia.  She  drew  her  chair  closer  and 
whispered: 

"Please  tell  me  —  all  about  it!" 

The  significant  words  rushed  Marian  Spaulding 
breathlessly  onward. 

"I  —  I  could  not  go  to  him  —  to  Lans  —  until 
I  made  sure — as  sure  as  possible  —  that  I  would  not 
be  injuring  him  by  —  by  my  demands.  I  wanted 
to  tell  some  one  who  loved  him  and  would  think  of 
him,  first.  He  was  always  so  heavenly  good  to  me  — 
I  would  not  harm  him  even  —  now!" 

"No!"  Cynthia's  deep  eyes  were  fastened  on  the 
white,  strained  face.  "  I  reckon  no  one  would  want 
to  hurt  Lans.'1 


386  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"  I  was  so  unhappy  when —  when  he  saved  me  from 
my  life  of  shame  and  misery.  There  was  no  other 
way  —  and  —  and  we  had  to  choose  1  He  was  so 
noble  —  it  was  I  who  —  who  —  gave  myself  to  him; 
he  never  exacted  —  anything.  I  —  loved  him  as 
only  God  and  I  can  know!  Poor  Lans  never  com 
prehended  why  I  left  —  but  he  —  my  husband  was 
ill;  dying  and  I  could  not  help  it.  Something  made 
me  go  back.  It  was  the  good  in  me  that  Lans  had 
created  that  most  of  all  compelled  me  to  go.  If 
Lans  could  believe  that!  oh!  if  he  only  could!  A 
woman  could,  but  could  a  man?" 

Poor  Cynthia  was  struggling  to  understand  a 
strange  language. 

"I'm  right  sure,"  she  faltered,  "that  Lans  could 
understand." 

"  Do  you  think  so ?  Oh !  I  have  been  so  tortured. 
He  told  me  to  come  to  him  if  I  needed  him  and  God 
knows  I  need  him  now  —  but  I  wanted  most  of  all  — 
not  to  hurt  him  —  or  exact  too  much  from  his  good 
ness.  You  see "  a  palpitating  pause  followed. 

Then:  "I  did  not  know  of  my  condition  when  I 
went  away;  I  only  heard  and  saw  the  wretched  man 
who  was  once,  who  was  still  —  my  husband.  I 
stayed  and  nursed  him;  he  died  —  a  month  ago  — 
and  now  —  I  must  think  of  —  of  —  the  child!" 

"The  child?"  Faintly  Cynthia  repeated  the 
words  and  her  bewildered  mind  struggled  with  them 
and  fitted  them,  somehow,  into  the  Hopes'  cabin, 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  387 

and  that  scene  where  Marcia  Lowe  arraigned 
Liza. 

The  door  of  the  sitting-room  opened  and  Lans 
entered  noiselessly.  Marian  Spaulding's  back  was 
toward  it  and  in  her  slow,  vague  way  Cynthia  was 
wondering  why  he  should  be  there  just  then.  The 
last  shielding  crust  of  childhood  was  breaking  away 
from  Cynthia  —  her  womanhood,  full  and  glowing, 
was  being  fanned  to  flame  by  the  appeal  this  strange 
woman  was  making  upon  it.  Cynthia,  the  girl  who 
had  been  caught  in  the  net,  had  no  longer  any  part 
in  this  tragedy  —  she  was  free! 

"The  child?"  she  again  repeated,  "what  child?" 

"Why,  Lans's  and  mine!'* 

Then  Cynthia  stood  up  quite  firm  and  straight. 
She  looked  full  and  commandingly  at  Lans  who  was 
leaning,  deadly  white,  against  the  door  he  had  closed 
behind  him. 

"Here  is  Lans,  now,"  she  said,  more  to  the 
haggard  man  than  to  the  pale  woman. 

It  was  as  if,  in  those  four  simple  words,  she 
appealed  to  the  best  and  finest  of  him  to  deal  with 
this  fearful  responsibility  which  was  his,  not  hers. 
In  that  instant  she  relinquished  all  the  forced  ties 
that  held  him  and  her  —  she  cast  him  off  superbly  at 
this  critical  time  of  his  life;  not  bitterly  or  unkindly 
—  but  faithfully. 

Marian  Spaulding  turned  and  rose  unsteadily  to 
her  feet,  then  with  outstretched  arms,  she  staggered 


388  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

toward  Lans.  Over  her  pitiful,  wan  face  a  flood 
of  passion  and  love  surged  —  her  lonely,  desperate 
soul  claimed  its  own  at  last! 

"Lans!  Lans!"  she  cried,  falling  into  his  arms; 
"you  will  understand!  you  must  understand  —  and 
there  is  —  our  child!" 

Lansing  Treadwell  held  the  little  form  close,  but 
his  wide,  haunted  eyes  sought  Cynthia's  over  the 
head  pressed  against  his  breast.  Cynthia  smiled 
at  him;  smiled  from  a  far,  far  place,  helpfully, 
bravely.  She  demanded  his  best  of  him  with  con 
fidence,  and  the  unreality  of  it  all  held  no  part  in  the 
thought  of  either. 

"I  must  take  her  —  away!"  Lans  found  words  at 
last  to  say. 

"Yes,"  Cynthia  nodded,  still  smiling  her  wonder 
ful  smile  at  him. 

"  I  will  return  —  soon.     Come  —  Marian ! " 

Cynthia  saw  them  depart,  heard  the  lower  door 
close  upon  them  and  then  she  awoke  from  her  spell. 
Sitting  down  in  a  deep  chair  before  the  fire  she  took 
the  incidents  of  the  past  few  moments,  one  by  one, 
and  set  them  in  order.  Like  an  ignorant  child 
selecting  block  after  block  and  asking  some  wiser 
one  what  they  meant,  she  demanded  of  her  new 
self  the  answer  to  all  she  had  witnessed. 

The  travail  was  long  and  desperate  —  and  when 
Lans  Treadwell  found  her,  an  hour  later,  he  was 
shocked  at  the  sight  of  her  face 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  389 

"My  God!"  was  all  he  could  say. 

"We  must  —  talk  it  over,"  Cynthia  said  gravely. 
"I  can  understand  now.  You  see,  dear,  I  couldn't 
have  her  hurt  —  her  and  —  and  the  child. " 

Lans  dropped  in  the  chair  Marian  Spaulding  had 
sat  in  and  bowed  his  head  in  his  hands. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  cruel  situation?"  he 
groaned.  Cynthia  came  to  him  and  knelt  beside  the 
arm  of  his  chair.  She  had  never  come  to  him  so 
before  and  the  touch  of  her  body  thrilled  the  man. 

"You  did  not  tell  her  —  about  me,  big  brother? 
did  you  ?  You  let  her  believe  I  am  your  sister." 

"Good  God!  how  could  I  tell  the  truth?  I  was 
afraid  of  killing  her. " 

"And  —  the  child.  Of  course  you  must  not 
tell  —  now." 

"Cynthia,  in  heaven's  name,  don't  be  too  hard 
upon  me  —  you  are  my  wife!" 

Fiercely  Lans  proclaimed  this  as  if,  by  so  doing, 
he  could  find  refuge  for  her  as  well  as  himself.  But 
Cynthia  shook  her  head  and  drove  him  back  upon 
his  better  self  again. 

"Those  little  words  spoken  by  that  man  in  the 
hills,"  she  whispered,  "couldn't  count,  I  reckon, 
against  —  all  the  rest." 

"They  can!  They  shall,  Cynthia.  I  can  make 
the  past  clear  to  you,  little  girl  -  Then  he 

stopped  still  before  the  look  in  Cynthia's  eyes. 

"I  am  a  —  woman,  Lans!"  it  seemed  to  say. 


390  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Presently  he  heard  her  speak. 

"You  told  Sandy,  dear,  that  night  in  the  cabin, 
that  you  would  leave  my  soul  to  me  —  until  —  well ! 
You  have  left  it  to  me,  and  the  time  has  come!  I 
have  much  to  learn;  but  I  understand  a  mighty  lot 
now.  It  came  to  me  while  I  waited,  for  you  to  come 
back  from  her!  My  soul  would  never  be  clean 
again,  Lans,  if  —  I  forgot  —  the  little  child  — 
hers  and  yours!  God  will  be  very  kind  to  us-all, 
dear,  if  we  do  right.  It's  mighty  puzzling  —  but  it 
will  come  straight.  You  once  loved  her?" 

"Yes,  Cynthia  — yes!" 

"And  you  never  loved  me  in  that  way,  dear?" 

"You  are  my  wife!"  Again  the  fierceness,  "you 
must  and  shall  come  first." 

"No,  Lans;  I  am  not  your  wife!" 

And  with  this  Cynthia  stood  up  and  clasped  her 
hands  close. 

"Every  law  in  the  land  says  you  are!"  Treadwell 
flung  his  head  back  and  faced  her;  "this  is  a  hideous 
tangle,  but  above  all  —  through  all  —  you  are  my 
wife!" 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  make  you  feel  how  I  see 
it  —  but  I  am  not  your  wife!  I  —  I  do  not  want  to 
be!  Why,  when  I  saw  the  light  in  —  in  Marian 
Spaulding's  eyes  a  little  time  ago  as  she  ran  to  you  — 
I  seemed  to  know  all  at  once  —  that  it  was  not  to 
you,  Lans  dear,  that  I  wanted  to  run  in  my  trouble, 
but  to " 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  391 

"Whom?" 

"To  Sandy,  dear.  »Sandy,up  there  iiTLost Hollow. 

"Cynthia!" 

Was  she  shamming?  Was  she  striving,  igno- 
rantly,  to  make  escape  easy  for  them  all?  Was  she 
utterly  devoid  of  moral  sense?  "Moral  sense!" 
At  that  Lans  Treadwell  paused.  The  glory  shining 
from  Cynthia's  eyes  as  she  stood  before  him,  made 
him  shrink  and  drop  his  own.  The  strength  and 
purity  of  the  high  places  was  upon  her.  She  was 
lovely  and  tender,  but  primitively  firm.  The  law  of 
the  cities  she  did  not  know;  but  the  law  of  the  secret 
places  of  the  hills  was  hers.  The  law  of  love  and 
Love's  God. 

"You  must  take  her  away,  Lans,  dear,  and  be 
right  good  to  her  asyou  have  been  to  me,  big  brother," 
the  sweet  voice,  the  unutterable  tenderness  and  firm 
ness  more  and  more  carried  everything  before  them; 
"  and  let  the  little  child  have  its  chance  —  poor  HI* 
child !  And  by  and  by  —  oh !  a  long  time  perhaps  — 
when  you  are  all  mighty  happy  and  safe,  you  must 
tell  her  all  about  it,  Lans,  and  make  her  love  me  - 
a  little!  Tell  her  —  it  was  all  I  could  do.  She  will 
understand  and  be  right  glad. " 

"And  you  —  little  Cyn?"  The  words  came  in  a 
groan. 

"I?  oh!  I  reckon  this  is  what  God  meant  me  to 
do,  Lans.  For  this  he  brought  me  down  The  Way, 
and  now  he  will  let  me  go  home ! " 


392  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Mrs.  Treadwell's  step  outside  the  door  brought 
them  both  back  to  the  poor  artificial  environment 
that  bound  them. 

"I  —  I  cannot  see  her  now ! " 

Cynthia  crouched  before  the  stern,  conventional 
tread  of  the  approaching  woman  as  if  she  were  in  a 
place  she  had  no  right  to  be  and  Lans  quickly 
opened  a  door  leading  from  the  sitting-room  to  a 
bedroom  through  which  she  might  escape.  And  as 
the  slight  figure  ran  from  his  sight  he  had  a  sickening 
feeling  as  if,  wakening  from  a  dream  of  mystery  and 
enchantment,  he  found  himself  in  the  midst  of  sor 
did  reality.  The  sweet  purity  of  the  hills  passed 
with  Cynthia  and  the  actualities  of  his  future  entered 
with  Olive  Treadwell. 

"Lans,"  she  asked  sharply,  looking  about  the 
room,  "who  was  the  woman  who  called  here  this 
morning?  The  woman  Cynthia  saw?" 

"It  was  —  Marian  Spaulding." 

"Good  heavens !     Did  she  talk  to  Cynthia ? " 

"She  —  tried  to  —  Cynthia  —  could  not  under 
stand." 

"She  will  some  day,  though,  Lans!  Can  you  buy 
Marian  off?  I  wouldn't  have  believed  she  was  so 
vicious.  Did  she  —  lie?" 

"I  rather  imagine  she  spoke  only  —  truth." 

"Well!  I  reckon  this  is  about  the  worst  confusion 
that  was  ever  brought  about.  Without  being  posi 
tively  bad,  Lans,  you've  managed  to  create  a 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  393 

mighty  lot  of  trouble  for  a  good  many  innocent 
people. " 

" Yes,  Aunt  Olive." 

Lans  was  standing  by  the  window  looking  down 
into  the  empty  street. 

"What  are  you  —  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Then  Lans  turned. 

"Aunt  Olive,  I'm  going  to  untangle  the  snarl  — 
somehow!  And  I'm  going  to  stand  by  —  Marian!" 

"Marian?  You  talk  like  a  madman,  Lans,  or  a 
fool  —  and  a  depraved  one  at  that.  You  owe  every 
thing  to  Cynthia  —  you'll  be  held  to  it,  too,  by  law!" 

"Aunt  Olive,"  and  then  Lans  laughed  a  mirth 
less,  cold  laugh,  "I  wonder  if  either  you  or  I  ever 
really  seriously  thought  we  could  —  hold  Cynthia? 
There  is  no  law  that  could  keep  her  here.  She  is  of 
the  hills.  She  came  into  our  lives  just  long  enough 
to  purify  our  air  and  —  clear  my  vision.  She'll 
go  back  now.  We  —  cannot  keep  her!" 

"Go  back  —  to  whom?" 

This  practical  question  took  the  smile  from  Lans's 
lips. 

"To  Sandy  Morley,  I  reckon,"  he  said  grimly; 
"most  of  every  noble  thing  I  might  have  had  —  gets 
to  him  —  sooner  or  later.  He  always  loved  her; 
she  has  just  confessed  to  me  that  she  loves  him. " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THERE  was  a  crust  of  glistening  snow  upon 
The  Way;  every  branch  of  the  tall,  bare 
trees  was  outlined  with  a  feathery  whiteness 
which  shone,  as  one  looked  deep  into  the  woods,  like 
the  tracery  of  some  fantastic  spirit  going  where  it 
listeth  without  design  or  purpose.  From  Lost  Moun 
tain  the  shadows  had  long  since  fled,  and  the  gaunt 
peak  rose  clear  and  protectingly  over  The  Hollow, 
which,  somehow,  had  undergone  a  mysterious  change 
in  a  few  short  months  —  or,  was  the  change  due  to 
the  magic  touch  of  love  that  dwelt  in  the  eyes  of  a 
young  girl  who  had  left  the  early  train  at  The  Forge 
and,  on  foot  and  alone,  was  wandering  up  The  Way 
with  a  song  of  joy  trembling  upon  her  lips?  So 
quietly  and  quickly  had  she  run  from  the  station, 
that  Smith  Crothers,  standing  by  the  door  of  the 
saloon  opposite,  had  been  the  only  one  to  notice  the 
passenger  in  the  long  coat,  rich  furs,  and  quaint  little 
velvet  hat. 

"Who's  that?"  he  asked  of  the  bartender  inside. 
The  man,  on  his  knees,  scrubbing  the  floor,  rose 
stiffly  and  came  to  Crothers. 

"Ole  miss  from  The  Holler?"  he  ventured  vaguely. 

394 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  395 

"Ole  miss- — be  damned!"  Crothers  was  in  an 
ill  humour. 

"Company,  maybe,  for  the  Morley  cabin.  It's 
mighty  'mazing  how  many  folks,  first  and  last,  do 
tote  up  The  Way  these  days.  But  I  don't  see — 
nobody!" 

Neither  did  Crothers,  now,  for  the  stranger  was 
hidden  from  sight.  Then  he  began  to  wonder  if  there 
really  had  been  any  one.  The  night's  revel  had 
been  rather  wilder  than  usual,  and  Crothers  was  not 
as  young  as  he  once  was. 

The  bell  of  his  factory  was  ringing,  however,  and 
he  unsteadily  made  his  way  thither. 

It  was  Cynthia  who  was  treading  lightly  up  The 
Way,  but  not  the  Cynthia  who  a  few  months  before 
had  gone  so  blindly  to  do  the  bidding  of  that  inner 
voice  of  conscience. 

"It  was  here,"  murmured  she,  standing  behind  a 
tall  tree  by  the  road,  "that  you  fled  from  Crothers 
the  night  of  the  fire.  Poor  little  Cyn!" 

That  was  it!  The  child,  Cynthia,  walked  beside 
the  woman,  Cynthia,  now,  and  the  woman  with  clear, 
awakened  eyes — understood  at  last! 

"Poor  little  Cyn!  How  frightened  you  were  and 
how  bravely  you  fought  for — me!  Or  was  it  I  who 
fought  for  you  ?  Never  mind !  we  have  come  home. 
Come  home  together,  dear,  you  and  I!  How  heav 
enly  good  it  is  for  us  to  come — together!" 

At  every  step  the  weariness  and  sense  of  peril,  en- 


396  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

gendered  by  her  experience,  dropped  from  Cynthia. 
She  was  a  woman,  but  Lans  had  left  her  soul  to  her, 
and  she  could  clasp  hands  with  the  past  quite  con 
fidently  and  joyously. 

"Home!  home!"  The  word  thrilled  and  thrilled 
through  her  being,  and  on  every  hand  she  noted  the 
touch  of  Sandy  Morley  with  tender  appreciation. 
She  laughed,  too,  this  thin,  pale  girl,  and  could 
Sandy  have  seen  her  then  he  would  have  thought 
her  shining  white  face,  set  in  the  dark  furs,  more 
like,  than  ever,  the  dogwood  bloom  under  the  pines ! 

"And  here  I  met  him  on  The  Way!"  Cynthia 
paused  at  the  spot  where  she  had  stood  that  spring 
morning,  and  saw,  with  a  shock  of  disappointment, 
the  man  who  had  usurped  her  childish  ideal  of  Sandy 
Morley. 

"How  lonely  he  must  have  been  —  when  I  did  not 
know  him!  Oh!  Sandy  —  to  think  I  did  not  know 
you.  You,  with  your  brave,  kind  eyes  and  your 
tender  heart!' 

A  tear  rolled  down  the  uplifted  face.  It  was  a 
•tear  of  joy,  for  Cynthia  was  going  to  Sandy.  From 
the  unrest  and  unreality  she  had  fled  to  him  feeling 
confident  that  he  would  gather  up  the  tangled  and 
dropped  threads  of  her  life,  and  weave  them,  some 
how,  into  a  new  and  perfect  pattern.  She  had  so 
much  to  tell  him!  And  he  was  there,  close  to  her! 
Waiting,  waiting  for  her  to  come  to  him  and  she 
could  afford  to  dally  by  the  wayside;  gather  up  the 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  397 

precious  memories  —  so  like  toys  of  the  child  she 
cnce  had  been  and,  by  and  by,  she  would  go  to  him 
like  a  little  girl  tired  of  her  day's^wandering,  and  he 
would  comfort  her! 

By  the  time  Cynthia  reached  Theodore  Starr's 
church  all  the  heaviness  of  recent  happenings  was 
forgotten;  it  had  no  part  in  her  thought.  The 
church  was  gay  in  Christmas  green  and  red  holly 
berries.  The  morning  sun,  quite  high  by  now,  shone 
in  the  windows. 

"Father!"  whispered  the  girl  as  if  in  prayer,  and 
then  she  knelt,  where  once  her  childish  feet  had 
borne  her  in  terror,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
How  well  she  now  understood  her  dear,  dead  father! 
Strong  in  human  love  and  sympathy,  incapable  of 
inflicting  pain  —  even  when  pain  would  have  been 
better  and  kinder  than  the  lack  of  it1 — how  like 
him  she,  the  daughter,  was!  How  she  had  slipped 
aside  from  the  right  path  because  weak  desire  to 
escape,  or  inflict  pain,  had  been  her  portion.  Well, 
she  had  suffered;  had  endured  her  exile;  been  merci 
fully  spared  from  worse  things,  and  now  God  had 
led  her  —  home! 

The  unseen  presence  seemed  to  bend  pityingly 
from  the  rude  desk-pulpit  and  comfort  the  gentle 
heart  of  the  returned  wanderer. 

Presently,  choosing  a  time  when  the  store  near  by 
was  deserted,  Cynthia  ran  from  the  church,  across 
The  Way,  and  escaped,  unseen,  to  the  trail  leading 


398  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

up  to  Stoneledge.  Her  gay  spirits  returned  and  she 
sang  snatches  of  song  as  she  once  used  to  sing.  There 
was  no  sequence,  no  meaning  of  words,  but  the  short 
sharp  turns  and  trills  were  as  wild  and  sweet  as  the 
bird  notes.  She  tried  Sandy's  call  —  but  her  memory 
failed  her  there! 

"Oh!  the  old  tree,"  Cynthia  ran  to  it.  For 
months  and  months  she  had  forgotten  it,  and  the 
secret  it  held  in  its  dead  heart.  Yes,  the  box  was 
there!  The  box  in  which  lay  the  outbursts  of  a 
girl's  fancy  and  imaginings.  With  a  mischievous 
laugh  Cynthia  removed  the  old  letters  and  put  them 
in  the  bag  that  hung  from  a  girdle  at  her  waist. 
Then  she  walked  on  to  the  old  Walden  Place. 
There  a  shock  awaited  her.  What  had  happened? 
The  crumbling  walls  had  fallen  in  many  places;  but 
there  were  props  and  scaffoldings,  too!  Sandy  had 
begun  his  work  of  redemption  on  the  Great  House. 
It  was  to  be  the  home  of  the  Markhams,  but  the 
surprised  onlooker  could  not  know  that  the  property, 
taken  by  the  county  for  unpaid  taxes,  had  been 
bought  in  by  Levi  Markham  in  Sandy's  name. 

"Dear  old  Stoneledge!"  And  then  Cynthia  sat 
down  upon  a  fallen  log  and  knew  the  heavy  heart- 
edness  of  one  who  arrives  too  late  to  receive  the  wel 
come  that  was  hushed  forever.  But  suddenly  her 
face  brightened.  In  the  general  demoralization  a 
portion  of  the  house  still  stood  —  it  was  the  wing, 
the  library! 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  399 

The  roof  had  caved  in,  but  the  Significant  Room 
stood  open  and  stark  to  the  glittering  winter  sun 
light!  Reverent  hands  had  removed  the  furniture, 
books,  and  pictures;  the  stark  and  staring  walls,  with 
their  stained  and  torn  paper,  were  bared  to  the  gaze 
of  every  chance  passerby.  Suddenly,  to  the  yearn 
ing  heart  of  the  onlooker,  a  miracle  appeared.  The 
scene  of  devastation  disappeared;  there  was  a  fra 
grance  of  honeysuckle  and  yellow  roses  in  the  sharp 
air  and,  in  a  dim,  sweet,  old,  sheltered  room  stood  a 
little  girl  with  patched  gingham  gown  and  long 
smooth-hanging  braids  of  hair,  gazing  up  at  a  por 
trait  that  no  eyes  but  hers  had  ever  seen.  It  was 
little  Madam  Bubble  and  she  was  lovingly,  proudly, 
exultingly,  looking  at  "The  Biggest  of  Them  All  I" 

Unheeded,  the  tears  rained  down  the  cheeks  of  the 
woman  standing  by  the  ruins  of  her  old  home;  she 
stretched  her  arms  out  tremblingly  as  if  to  hold  the 
vision  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  rest  of  life. 

"Oh!  my  Sandy,  you  have  indeed  cut  your  way 
through  your  enemies.  Oh!  my  love;  my  dear,  dear 
love." 

How  long  she  stood  rapt  in  her  vision  Cynthia 
never  knew.  Her  day  of  wonders  enchanted  and 
held  her  oblivious  of  weariness,  hunger,  or  physical 
pain,  but  she  must  get  to  Trouble  Neck;  she  must 
throw  herself  into  the  safe  arms  of  the  little  doctor 
and  —  find  peace  and  guidance.  Later  they  — 
the  Cup-o'-Cold- Water  Lady  and  she  —  would  go  to 


400  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Sandy's  cabin  as  they  had  that  night  when  Lans 
had  claimed  her  and  then  —  well,  beyond  that 
Cynthia  could  not  see! 

At  Trouble  Neck  another  disappointment  met  her. 
The  trim  cabin  was  empty !  The  unlocked  door  gave 
way  to  the  eager  pressure;  the  sunny  room  was  full 
of  generous  welcome,  and  a  gleam  of  fire  on  the  hearth 
showed  that  the  little  mistress  had  not  been  gone 
long. 

Some  people  leave  a  room  more  vacant  than  others. 
Like  the  breath  of  perfume,  after  the  flower  has 
been  removed,  their  personality  and  dearness  linger, 
making  one  miss  them  more,  and  long  for  them  more 
keenly.  As  a  child  might  suffer  at  not  finding  its 
mother  awaiting  it  at  the  close  of  day  Cynthia  suf 
fered  then.  She  wandered  to  the  table  on  which  lay 
the  little  doctor's  work  —  a  child's  dress!  Beside 
it  was  a  medical  book  opened  at  a  chapter  on  the 
diseases  of  —  children.  And  on  the  widespread 
book  lay  an  unsealed  note  addressed  to  —  Tod 
Greeley! 

A  smile,  a  wan,  understanding  smile  touched 
Cynthia's  lips,  but  presently  it  softened  into  the 
dear,  old,  slow  smile,  and  the  girl  bent  and  kissed  the 
penciled  name  of  the  postmaster,  for  the  dear,  absent 
hand  had  rested  there  last! 

There  were  bread  and  milk  and  bacon  in  the  pantry, 
and  with  happy  familiarity  Cynthia  made  a  meal  for 
herself,  and  ate  heartily.  After  this  she  went  into 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  401 

the  lean-to  chamber  and  taking  off  her  hat  and 
wraps,  lay  down  upon  the  couch,  for  she  began  to 
realize  how  weary  she  was.  She  slept  several  hours 
and  was  awakened  by  a  step  in  the  outer  room. 
Thinking  it  was  Marcia  Lowe  she  raised  herself  and 
looked  through  the  half-opened  door.  It  was  Tod 
Greeley!  He  had  lighted  the  oil  lamp  and  stood  by 
the  table  with  Marcia's  note  in  his  hand.  Over  and 
again  he  read  it,  then  folded  it  slowly  and  put  it  in 
his  breast  pocket. 

A  change  had  been  wrought  upon  Greeley.  He 
stood  straight  and  firm;  he  was  shaven  and  shorn 
and  neatly  dressed;  his  face  was  happier,  too,  than 
Cynthia  had  ever  seen  it.  The  lazy  good  humour 
was  merged  into  purpose  and  dignity. 

"To-morrow,  then!"  Cynthia  heard  him  murmur; 
"to-morrow  then!" 

He  extinguished  the  light  and  passed  from  the 
house,  leaving  Cynthia  more  lonely  than  she  had 
been  since  she  left  the  train  that  morning. 

For  an  hour  or  two  Cynthia  struggled  with  herself. 
Abstractedly  she  knew  that  she  ought  not  to  go  to 
Sandy  Morley  alone.  Something  that  some  one — 
she  could  not  remember  who  or  where  —  taught 
her,  warned  her  that  it  was  not  right  for  her  to  leave 
Trouble  Neck  that  evening. 

"But  why?"  asked  the  great  longing,  "why?" 

"You  are  Lans  Treadwell's  wife;  his  wife!" 

At  this  Cynthia  laughed  outright.     That  part  of 


402  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

her  life  had  touched  her  only  as  her  awful  experience 
with  Crothers  had  done;  except  that  Lans  had 
gained  her  confidence  in  Man  while  Crothers  had  im 
perilled  it.  The  real  self  of  Cynthia  was  pure  and 
untouched;  ready  to  offer  now,  to  offer  itself,  upon 
the  true  altar  of  love  and  consecration.  Nothing 
could  change  that;  nothing  could  blind  her  to  it;  but 
over  and  through  the  knowledge  ran  the  discord  of 
suggestion  left  by  the  contact  with  convention,  down, 
and  far,  from  Lost  Mountain. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  when  Cynthia  gained  her 
triumph  over  the  claim  upon  her,  and  cloaked  and 
hooded,  started  out. 

She  wore  her  own,  old  cloak  and  the  red  hood  that 
Marcia  Lowe's  loving  fingers  had  knitted  for  her. 
Sandy  must  not  be  disappointed  in  her;  it  must  be 
little  Cyn,  not  the  Cynthia  Lans  Treadwell  had 
claimed,  who  was  to  put  forth  her  appeal  for  help. 

The  crisp,  starry  night  was  still  and  fine;  the  walk 
from  Trouble  Neck  to  Sandy's  cabin  brought  the 
blood  to  the  pale  cheeks,  light  to  the  large  eyes. 
How  quiet  the  cabin  was  —  and  dark!  Only  one 
light  shone  forth  and  that  was  from  the  study. 
Cautiously  Cynthia  stepped  close  and  looked  in; 
the  curtains  were  parted  where  a  hasty  hand  had 
left  them.  Sandy,  seated  near  the  glowing  fire,  was 
painting  at  his  easel.  After  a  long  day's  work  in  the 
open  air  he  was  indulging  his  fancy,  forgetting  the 
trials  and  disappointments  of  his  life  in  the  poor 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  403 

talent  that  was  his.  The  canvas  was  so  placed  that 
the  watcher  from  outside  could  see  it  plainly  over  the 
back  bent  toward  it.  A  face  gleamed  from  a  crown 
of  dogwood  blossoms  —  pink  and  white  blossoms ! 
It  was  the  face  of  —  Madam  Bubble !  The  girl-face 
with  the  slow,  alluring  smile  and  the  waiting  eyes ! 

The  woman  outside  bent  her  head  upon  her  cold 
clasped  hands  while  the  waves  of  love  and  surrender 
engulfed  her.  All  her  life  she  had  been  coming  to  — 
Sandy!  He  had  cut  down  every  barrier  but  one! 
He  must  crush  that!  How  strong  he  looked,  how 
fine! 

A  tap  as  gentle  as  the  touch  of  a  bird's  wing  fell 
upon  the  frosty  glass  and  Sandy  turned  sharply. 
He  waited  a  moment,  then  came  to  the  window. 
Cynthia,  frightened  at  her  daring,  shrank  into  the 
shadow  and  breathed  hard.  Sandy  waited  a  mo 
ment  longer  and  then  drew  the  heavy  curtains  to 
gether  close,  leaving  the  outer  world  in  darkness. 

A  moment  later  Cynthia,  regaining  courage,  crept 
close  to  the  glass  and  tapped  again.  This  time 
Sandy  strode  to  the  door,  flung  it  wide  and,  standing 
in  the  panel  of  warmth  and  light  with  uplifted  head, 
said  sternly: 

"  Who  is  there  ?    What  is  wanted  ?  " 

Who  he  expected  he  hardly  knew  himself,  but 
the  answer  he  received  caused  him  to  reel  backward. 

"It's  —  it's  HI*  Cyn,  Sandy,  and  she  wants — • 
you!" 


404  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

Then  he  drew  her  in,  closed  the  door  upon  the 
world  and,  holding  her  before  him  by  the  shoulders, 
looked  deep  and  searchingly  into  her  eyes  which  met 
his  unflinchingly  and  trustfully. 

"Thank  God!"  was  all  he  said,  but  in  that  mo 
ment  poor  Lans  Treadwell  passed  unscathed  before 
his  last  judge. 

"How  thin  you  are,  little  Cyn!" 

Sandy  had  drawn  the  big  leather  chair  to  the  hearth 
and  seated  her  in  it.  He  took  off  the  cloak  and  hood 
and  then  stood  back. 

"  I  reckon  the  longing  for  home  did  it,  Sandy. " 

"You  have  —  been  homesick?" 

"  Oh !  mighty  homesick.  I  have  wanted  the  moun 
tain  until  my  soul  hurt." 

"Poor  HI' Cyn." 

"  Say  it  again,  Sandy,  say  it  again ! "  The  dimmed 
eyes  implored  him. 

" Poor  lir  Cyn." 

No  suggestion  of  impropriety  had  entered  with 
Cynthia.  Sandy  was  too  fine  and  self-forgetful  to  be 
touched  by  worldliness.  Cynthia  had  come  to  him; 
he  and  she  were  safe! 

"And  Lans,  Cynthia?" 

"Come  close,  Sandy.  There,  sit  so,  on  the  stool. 
I  want  to  touch  you,  I  want  to  see  you  near  while  I 
go  back  —  go  away  from  our  mountain  for  a  time. 
Come  with  me,  Sandy,  down  to  Lans!" 

Then  she  told  him.      The  red  firelight  played  on 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  405 

her  pale,  sweet  face;  her  hand  sometimes  reached  out 
and  lay  upon  the  shoulder  by  the  arm  of  her  chair; 
once  the  fingers  touched  his  cheek  —  but  Sandy  did 
not  move  and  his  eyes  never  looked  up  from  the 
heart  of  the  glowing  log. 

"It  was  a  long  journey  to  the  day  when  I  under 
stood,  Sandy.  It  was  a  hard  path  for  ignorant  feet 
and  blind  eyes  —  but  God  was  very  good  to  me.  The 
South  is  slow  with  us-all,  dear,  but  up  there  in  the 
North  —  I  awakened!  I  think  it  came  —  the  truth, 
dear,  when  she  —  the  girl,  ran  to  Lans.  In  the 
mighty  times  of  a  woman's  life  she  can  only  run  that 
way  —  to  one  man!  And  like  the  mists,  clearing 
from  Lost  Mountain,  the  shadows  left  me  and  I  knew 
right  well  that  come  what  might,  Sandy  dear,  in  all 
the  time  on  ahead,  in  joy  or  sorrow,  pain  or  —  death 
it  would  be  to  you  I  would  want  to  run. " 

The  log  fell  apart  in  rich  glory  and  then  Sandy 
looked  up  into  the  drooping,  flower-like  face. 

"Don't,  lil'  Cyn,"  he  whispered,  "you  do  not 
understand,  but  —  you  must  not  speak  so  to  me." 

Then  she  laughed. 

"Oh !  I  reckon  I  know  what  you  mean,  Sandy.  I've 
been  through  it  all  and  —  run  away  from  it!  Sandy, 
tell  me  true;  before  the  good  and  great  God,  doesn't 
that  poor  girl  belong  to  Lans  more  than  I  do?" 

"Yes!" 

"Isn't  his  duty  to  her?" 

"Yes,  yes,  lil' Cyn." 


4Q6  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

"Then  what  is  left?  Just  —  you  and  me,  I 
reckon,  Sandy." 

Sandy  gripped  his  clasped  hands  close  as  if  by  so 
doing  he  could  better  control  the  rising  passion  of  his 
love  for  the  girl  beside  him.  Her  ignoring  of  stern 
fact  turned  his  reason.  She  was  right  —  but  she 
was  wrong!  He  must  protect  her  and  never  fail 
her;  he  must  not  be  less  than  Lans. 

Then  her  words  came  to  him  in  the  chaos  of  his 
emotions;  a  new  thought  had  claimed  her.  She 
had  finished,  at  last,  with  the  story  of  her  exile;  she 
was  back  among  her  hills. 

"And  the  factory,  Sandy,  it  is  coming  on  right 
fast,  I  reckon?" 

"It  is  nearly  done." 

"And  —  the  Home-school?" 

"That,  too,  is  nearly  ready." 

"You  haven't  forgotten  the  HI*  room,  off  in  the 
corner,  have  you,  Sandy?  The  HI'  room  where  the 
baby-things  are  to  come  to  me  to  be  —  cuddled?" 

Sandy  shivered. 

"You  —  haven't  left  that  out,  have  you,  Sandy?" 

"I  had,  HI'  Cyn,  but  I  am  going  to  put  it  aback  — 
to-morrow. " 

"I'mrightglad,Sandy,forI've  learned  some  mighty 
sweet  HI'  tunes,  and  I've  bought  some  pictures  and 
books  with  stories  that  will  make  them-all  laugh 
when  we've  taught  them  how.  My  trunk  is  full  of 
things  for  the  babies." 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  407 

Sandy  permitted  himself  one  look  at  the  dear  face 
so  close  to  his  own.  It  wore  the  white  rapt  look  he 
remembered  so  well;  the  wonderful,  brooding  tender 
ness  as  fancy  held  it.  It  was  so  she  had  looked  upon 
him  when,  as  a  ragged  boy,  he  sat  beside  her.  She 
had  awakened  imagination  within  his  starved  soul 
and  given  his  ambition  wings  with  which  to  soar. 

He  and  she  were  now  bent  forward  toward  the 
smouldering  fire;  he  on  the  stool,  she  in  the  deep 
chair. 

"Do  you  remember,  Sandy,  HP  Madam  Bubble?" 

"I  reckon  I  remember  nothing  else  so  —  clearly." 

He  looked  away,  he  could  trust  himself  no  farther. 

"And  the  'Biggest  of  Them  All'  —  you  remember 
him?" 

"I  —  I  have  forgotten  him,  Cynthia. " 

"No  —  you  have  not  forgotten  him,  Sandy!" 

"He  —  he  does  not  seem  to  have  any  place,  HI' 
Cyn." 

"Oh!  yes  and  yes  he  does!  I  reckon  he  is  bigger 
than  even  you  or  I  —  know!" 

Did  she  suspect  the  terrible  weakness  of  desire  that 
was  overpowering  him?  At  this  thought  Sandy 
gripped  his  hands  closer;  he  felt  her  deep,  true  eyes 
upon  him  and  a  rush  of  blood  dyed  his  dark  face  to 
crimson.  Cynthia  saw  this  and  laid  her  cool  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  while  she  asked  bravely,  daringly: 

"Do  you  love  me  —  Sandy?" 

What  other  woman  on  earth  could  have  put  that 


4o8  A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS 

question  at  such  a  time?  He  and  she  were  alone  in 
the  empty  woods  and  the  night  held  them.  Sandy 
turned  to  her. 

"As  God  hears  me  —  yes,  HI'  Cyn,  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul.  I  have  loved  you  all  my  life. " 

"In  this  bag,"  Cynthia  touched  the  bag  at  her 
waist,  "are  the  letters  I  wrote  to  you,  Sandy,  while 
you  were  away.  I  hid  them  in  an  old  tree  by  Stone- 
ledge.  The  tree  kept  them  safe  for  —  me.  There 
are  a  right  many  —  all  answers  to  the  one  you  sent 
me.  Do  you  want  them,  Sandy?" 

"Yes." 

"Here  — Sandy!" 

The  letters,  more  precious  than  any  other  gift, 
lay  in  his  keeping  at  last. 

"God  bless  you,  HI' Cyn." 

She  smiled  divinely. 

"I  wandered  far  down  in  the  valley,  Sandy,  and 
I  had  a  hard  lesson  to  learn;  a  hard  thing  to  do,  and 
I've  come  home  to  find  you  waiting  for  me.  Oh !  tell 
me,  dear,  isn't  there  one  law,  just  one  in  our  land  to 
set  a  HI'  girl  free  who  has  made  a  mistake?" 

Behind  the  two  by  the  fire  a  door  opened  and,  on 
the  threshold  stood  Levi  Markham  perplexed  and 
awed.  Slowly  the  meaning  of  the  scene  came  to 
him;  Matilda  had  somewhat  prepared  him;  the 
question  of  the  girl  by  Sandy's  side  shed  a  blinding 
light  upon  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts.  Standing 
there,  rugged  and  strong,  he  seemed  the  personifica- 


A  SON  OF  THE  HILLS  409 

tion  of  power  and  solution.  But  he  was  waiting; 
he  must  know  what  Sandy  felt!  He  drew  back  into 
the  cold,  dark  passage  and  played  the  eavesdropper 
for  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life. 

"Mine!  mine!"  Never  had  Sandy's  voice  known 
that  tone  before.  Levi  bowed  his  head. 

"You  are  mine!  Yes,  HI'  Cyn,  there  is  a  law, 
there  must  be  a  law  that  can  give  us  to  each  other; 
I  have  been  waiting  for  you  by  The  Way  all  my  life, 
and  you  have  come  to  me,  HI'  girl,  at  last  —  my  HI' 
Cyn." 

Then  Levi  Markham  stole  away.  He  felt  along 
the  passage  with  outstretched  hands  for  his  eyes  were 
blinded.  He  must  waken  Matilda;  he  must  —  but 
there  he  paused.  The  door,  at  which  he  had  just 
stood,  was  opening!  He  had  time,  only,  to  crouch 
in  the  shadow  of  a  turn  of  the  hallway  before  Sandy 
and  Cynthia  came  out.  Sandy  had  his  right  arm 
protectingly  around  the  girl;  her  bright  head  rested 
on  his  shoulder;  in  his  left  hand  Sandy  held  high 
a  lighted  candle. 

"We  must  tell  them,  dear  heart,"  he  was  whisper 
ing;  "they  two  before  any  one  else." 

And  then  Levi,  seeing  flight  possible,  ran  to  his 
sister's  room  in  order  that  he  might  share  the  con 
fidence  that  he  already  possessed. 

THE   END 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE   STRATTON-PORTER 

May  be  had  wherever  bookt  art  sold.      Ask  for  Gnusrt  &  Dmriap't  lUt 

MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN,      Illustrated  by  Frances  Rogers. 

Michael  is  a  quick-witted  little  Irish  newsboy,  living  in  Northern 
Indiana.     He  adopts  a  deserted  little  girl,  a  cripple.     He  also  as 
sumes  the  responsibility  of  leading  the  entire  rural  community  up 
ward  and  onward, 
LADDIE.      Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  the  scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The 
story  is  told  by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  of  a  large  family, 
but  it  is  concerned  not  so  much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family.  Chief  among  them  is  that 
of  Laddie  and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has  come  to  live  in 
the  neighborhood  and  about  whose  family  there  hangs  a  mystery. 
THE  HARVESTER.  Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"The  Harvester,"  is   a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  and  if  the 
book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man  it  would 
be  notable.     But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  ''  Medicine  Woods," 
there  begins  a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES.      Illustrated. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life  ;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp  ;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality  ;  and  his 
love-story  with  "  The  Angel "  are  full  of  real  sentiment, 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST.  Illustrated. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods ;  a  buoyant,  loveable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American,  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things  ;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by 
the  sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW.  Illustrations  in  colors. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indiana, 
The   story  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrificing 
love.     The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of 
nature,  and  its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  alL 
THE  SONG  OF  THE  CARDINAL.      Profusely  illustrated. 

A  love  ideal  of  the  Cardinal  bird  and  his  mate,  told  with  delicacy 
and  humor. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,         NEW  YORK 


KATHLEEN  NORRIS*   STORIES 

May  be  had  vrtwrever  books  «r«  told.      Ask  for  Grosstt  &  DunUp's  Hst 

MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  book  has  a  fairy-Btory  touch,  counterbalanced  by 
the  sturdy  reality  of  struggle,  sacrifice,  and  resulting  peacb 
and  power  of  a  mother's  experiences.'" 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD. 
Frontispiece  by  F.  GrahamTGootes. 

Out  on  the  Pacific  coast  a  normal  girl,  obscure  and  lovelyj 
makes  a  quest  for  happiness.  She  passes  through  three 
stages — poverty,  wealth  and  service — and  works  out  & 
creditable  salvation. 

THE  RICH  MRS.  BURGOYNE. 
Illustrated  by  Lucius  H.  Hitchcock. 

The  story  of  a  sensible  woman  who  keeps  within  her 
means,  refuses  to  be  swamped  by  social  engagements,  lives 
a  normal  human  life  of  varied  interests,  and  has  her  own 
romance. 

THE  STORY  OF  JULIA' PAGE. , 

Frontispiece  by  Allan  Gilbert. 

How  Julia  Page,  reared  hi  rather  unpromising  summnxJ- 
ings,  lifted  herself  through  sheer  determination  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

Rachael  is  called  upon  to  solve  many  problems,  and  in 
working  out  these,  there  is  shown  the  beauty  and  strength 
of  soul  of  one  of  fiction's  most  appealing  characters. 

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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


-r 


JUL-5 


REC'D  LD-t  RL 


,  i  is, 

OCT17: 


1974 


977 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


3  1158  00206  6925 


A     000930860 


